


My ultimate nemesis

by Strudelmugel



Series: Spytalia [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Car Chases, Character Death, Guns, Love/Hate, Multi, Secret Identity, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Oxenstjärna and Franz Edelstein are agents operating in present day Berlin; their job: infiltrating and bringing down the worst gangs and criminals in the city. But a new, elusive, organisation- Commonwealth- is threatening the safety of the EU, and the world. The duo have to stop them, but the only way to do so could shatter Peter beyond repair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> Franz- Kugelmugel
> 
> Andrei- Moldova
> 
> ...
> 
> Another au between myself and tumblr user peteradnan, dubbed 'spytalia', following Sealand and Kugelmugel as adult spies and brother-in-laws. If you want to look through art on either of our tumblrs, simply type the word 'spytalia' in our blogs and you'll find it, though there are heavy spoilers. It's safe to say we're pretty excited and I hope this fic lives up to all the hype the art generated.
> 
> There are a lot of warnings here, so please avoid this fic if you dislike blood, guns, death (lots of death), ocs for both micronations and actual nations, poisons, car accidents, murder and nyo nations.
> 
> If you're not phased by any of those, then by all means, continue.

"This is stupid," Peter grumbled as he tugged at his shirt.

"But necessary," Franz sighed next to him, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, wearing a grim expression.

"I know, I know, to get evidence and all." Peter sunk further into his seat, faintly admiring the snugness of the leather as their car glided smoothly across the tarmac. Outside, headlights danced across the rain-spattered road as traffic whizzed past and street lights glared down at them. This was a wealthy area of town, illustrated by the vast mansions they passed, with neat gardens and ornate gates to shut out the world. Few had lights in their windows, and Peter noted the unfriendly, derelict presence most carried. He wondered how many of these dwellings hid criminals, smugglers and dealers who'd become prosperous from the illicit items they bought and sold, and murders they committed without a second glance, and promised himself that he'd flush them out. Every one.

But first things first. He already knew one possible criminal, and it was his job to catch the bastard red-handed.

He stuffed a pair of small pistols into his jacket, in secret pockets sewn into the satin that were almost undetectable if briskly searched, though a more thorough examination of his clothes could spell a death sentence. However, the chances were that that shouldn't be a worry, if what Peter knew about this man's lax security measures were correct. Novice.

"Do you remember the plan?" asked Franz, glancing over at him sceptically. The Austrian wore a glittering blue dress, his long hair tumbling down his back as diamonds dripped from his neck and ears and coloured contacts hid his lilac eyes. Foundation distorted his face into a feminine mask, altering the shape of his cheekbones- and hiding the small, recognisable mole under his eye- whilst eye shadow, blusher and lipstick finished the picture. If Peter didn't loathe him so much, he might even go as far to admit Franz Edelstein was beautiful. But he would never bring himself to pay his brother-in-law such a compliment.

"Of course!" he rolled his eyes, "I'll be fine. You just focus on keeping Im Yong Soo distracted as long as you can."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll manage that," he purred, playing with a silvery lock.

There was an awkward silence before Peter spoke up again.

"Fair play to you for doing this in drag though," he commented.

"Oh I don't mind at all," Franz chuckled, "I like being beautiful, it's art! People will be looking out for two male spies, not a man and his glamorous, female companion. Besides, it's not like the boss has many opportunities to make dresses."

"I don't think he should have any opportunities to make anything," grumbled Peter, lifting the bottom of his blazer to reveal a large darn in his shirt; "look at this! I mean, the clothes are quality and all, but he keeps running out of materials and using scraps! It ruins the image!"

"I can hear everything, you know?" growled a voice in his earpiece.

"Agent Patch!" Peter exclaimed, "I was just…"

"I know full well what you were doing, Agent Seagull," their boss, Andrei Radacanu, sighed, "can you please just focus on the mission?"

"Of course sir!" said Franz, and Peter scowled.

"Good. Oh, and Agent Seagull?"

"Yes..?"

"Try not to do anything stupid or reckless."

"Noted, sir." Peter stuck out his tongue, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in a sulk, deciding not to bring up the fact that everything he and Franz did for a living could be considered 'reckless'. Every mission provided a plethora of opportunities to be tortured and killed. Still, it was good pay so he wasn't going to complain.

"Shush, we're here," Franz whispered excitedly, pulling into a driveway bordered by high, white walls, joining the queue of expensive cars leading to an elaborately-decorated mansion. Unlike the others along the street, this house was bright and cheerful, lights shining through all the ground floor windows as groups streamed into the building. Peter let out a whistle.

"Well he's certainly been spending…" he commented as the pair drove past a marble fountain. The car stopped in front of the steps leading to the front doors, and Franz sauntered out, tossing his keys to the waiting valet and the two agents were ushered into the shining, crowded, hallway illuminated by a glistening chandelier. Peter handed their forged invitations over, smiling over at his partner.

"So, Miss Maria Héderváry," he began, using Franz's nom de plume, "ready to party?"

"Of course, Mr William Cook." Franz took his hand and led him into the main living room, where crowds of finely-dressed people were milling about, drinking and talking. Waiters wove between them with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, and in the corner, a swing band played lively music. Peter and Franz exchanged glances, nodding before walking off in separate directions, stopping to chat briefly with anyone who greeted them. They tried not to let their impatience show, especially since they weren't on any real time limit. Why plant suspicion on themselves for no reason?

Peter turned around to find Franz heading towards the buffet table and groaned, dashing after him.

"Oh no you don't," he hissed in the other's ear, grabbing his arm.

"But, torte!"

"Franz Gottlieb Edelstein, do your job properly."

"Fine, but please try to refrain from calling me Franz. Are you trying to give us away?"

Peter cursed his mistake, wandering off again.

Franz, meanwhile, picked up a slice of cake, ignoring the glare his partner threw at him from across the floor, eyes scanning the room for the host. He soon spotted Im Yong Soo, the millionaire in a navy-blue Prada suit, talking animatedly to one of his guests. Franz chewed his snack slowly as he considered his next move, watching Peter slip through a side door, unnoticed.

…

"Go upstairs and it should be the third door on your left," Andrei hissed at him, "from the plans on his computer, Agent Yogurt predicts what you're looking for will be there."

"Noted," Peter clawed at a lock of hair so it covered his ear piece, then weaved in and out of partiers chatting on the stairs, climbing up to the first floor. It was quieter here; even Peter's footsteps were muffled as he trod over thick, red carpet. The upstairs hall was dim and empty, everyone else gathered downstairs to be near the beloved host, hoping to gain the favour of such a rich and powerful man.

Previous, near-fruitless, months of long, dull observations, questioning and infiltration had provided mere snippets of Im Yong Soo's life, but Peter knew he was influential, having contacts in an estimated fifteen countries, smuggling everything from diamonds to drugs through Schengen boarders and selling them on to various gangs and crime rings. His latest batch of illicit purchase was what Peter hoped to find now, and what he hoped would provide enough cold, hard evidence to finally send Yong Soo to prison.

He stopped in front of the door, slipping on a pair of gloves and turning the handle. It was locked, much to his dismay, but thankfully not alarmed. Peter shrugged, pulling out a wire and getting to work.

…

Franz finished his slice of cake, tossing the napkin into a nearby bin and wiping his mouth before approaching the now-solitary Yong Soo. As he walked, he stuffed his earpiece into a little pocket sewn into one of the layers of his dress, so the other wouldn't see it.

Im Yong Soo was stood leaning against the fireplace, mouth pulled into a thin line as he looked down at his shoes. Franz frowned. He thought this was supposed to be a happy occasion. Was the man putting on a mask for his guests? Was his hospitable temperament hiding unspoken anxieties and fears? Were there already cracks in his rather infantile business? He put on a smile and approached the man. This could be easier than expected.

"Hey there," he began, standing next to Yong Soo and brushing against his shoulder, "this is one hell of a party."

"You think?" Yong Soo broke into a warm smile, eyes shining, "thank you very much."

"Must've cost a fair bit," Franz commented, looking around whilst Yong Soo blushed and shrugged.

"A little, but I like to splash out, especially if it attracts sophisticated young ladies such as yourself." He winked and Franz smiled, placing an arm on his shoulder.

"Don't rely on your money to attract people," he said with fluttering eyelids, "surely your looks alone should be enough to leave you swamped by women, am I right?"

"Sure. Thank you, miss..?"

"Maria."

"Well, Maria, excuse my poor German, but you are very beautiful," Yong Soo cupped a hand under Franz's chin, tracing circles over his cheek with a thumb. A small wave of panic rippled through Franz as he wondered if his make up would rub off, revealing that telltale mole. But Yong Soo just gave a flirtatious smile, licking his lips.

"Thank you," Franz squeaked, suppressing a nervous giggle, taking the businessman's hand in his and placing it by his side, drawing nearer so his chest was pressing against the other's, "I am aware though."

"Confidence, huh? How incredibly sexy," Yong Soo purred.

"So, tell me about yourself," Franz drew away, throwing a coy smile in his direction.

"Not much to say. Born in Daegu, studied abroad in France and Switzerland, started my own business, travelled the world…"

"So you never settled down with anyone?"

"There have been people," Yong Soo sighed, "never stuck around long though."

"That's a shame…"

Yong Soo laughed, "I'm sure you don't see it that way."

"Not really," admitted Franz, taking two glasses of champagne from a nearby tray and handing one to Yong Soo. "Say, these other people are getting on my nerves. The place is a little crowded, y'know?" Franz wondered where he was going with this. All the mission stated was that he had to distract Yong Soo until Peter returned, but now he began to think he could go one step further. What if he lured the suspect into a false sense of security? What if he could subdue him somehow, interrogate him, and maybe even get a precious confession?

Yong Soo frowned, "well I can't get rid of them…"

"Never said you had to. What if it was us that left?"

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Yong Soo broke into a grin, tucking a lock of Franz's hair behind his ear.

"Maybe," Franz leaned forward, "is there anywhere we could have a bit of privacy?"

…

Peter finally picked the door open, pocketing his wire and slipping inside unnoticed, closing the door quickly after glancing around one final time. He found himself in a dark storeroom, packed to the brim with boxes and crates, few old enough to have gathered dust. Thin corridors snaked throughout the room, and moonlight filtered in through the tiny, translucent window, barely reaching the agent as he stood next to the door.

"Agent Patch," he hissed, "where should I start looking?"

"Everywhere," the voice in his earpiece whispered back, "it could be in any part of the room. We can't tell you any more."

"This might take a while then," Peter tiptoed over to the first crate, reading the label and shaking his head. Wrong date. He needed to find the most recent items, the ones that could only have been delivered a few days ago. He continued his search, glancing at labels as he snuck around the room, eventually finding a collection of suitcases marked with yesterday's date, in the back almost unseen. He picked up the nearest one, crouching down and balancing it on his knees, fiddling with the combination locks. After what felt like an eternity of desperate fumbling and picking, the locks finally snapped open, and Peter grinned. He lifted the lid off, revealing his prize.

"Gotcha, you little bastards," he hissed.

"Is it there?" Andrei asked.

Peter looked down at the rifle parts and boxes of bullets littered across the bottom of the suitcase, and nodded.

"Im Yong Soo's been organising gun-running," he confirmed, "there's probably more in the other cases."

"Do what you have to do, then get out. We'll pass the evidence on to the police and they can deal with him."

"Noted," Peter pulled out a portable camera and began photographing the parts, still feeling pleased with himself. So involved was he in his task, that Peter didn't notice the person sneaking up on him until a hand was clamped over his mouth and a pair of fingers attacked the pressure point above his collar bone. He tried to scream in pain, but the hand muffled any noises and they came out as pathetic squeals. His vision swam and he soon blacked out.

…

Yong Soo led Franz to his ground-floor office, the pair giggling and holding hands, slipping past others and ignoring their startled expressions.

The moment they stepped inside the large, messy room, Franz glanced around, taking in as many details as he could whilst Yong Soo locked the door, still cackling. The agent wondered how much he'd had to drink, as his voice was slightly slurred and he swayed as he walked, tripping over his feet. Easier to subdue, Franz noted.

His eyes ran over the faded green carpet and drawn blinds, squinting to read the labels on the files stacked on the shelves. It was a finely furnished room indeed, with an ornate globe, various paintings and a collection of ornaments included in the decoration. He glanced at the papers strewn across the desk, wondering if Yong Soo was too intoxicated to notice if he stuffed a few down his dress, but soon found himself busy, as the smuggler wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning against Franz's shoulder.

"Fancy something to drink?" he asked, walking over to the globe and lifting the lid up, revealing a collection of brandy and port. Franz nodded.

"Scotch, please."

Yong Soo nodded and poured him a glass, pouring one for himself too. He handed the drink to Franz, motioning for him to sit in an office chair whilst he perched on the arm. When Franz was seated, he wrapped an arm around the agent's shoulders, grinning.

"So," Franz began, a little nervously, "this is where you work?"

"Indeed," Yong Soo stretched, "kinda small though. Hoping to get it refurbished."

"Maybe I could help," Franz tucked a hand under his chin, crossing his legs to reveal a slither of thigh and beaming up at the other, "I've always considered myself an artist."

"Is that so? Well, I'll have to give you a call sometime," he leaned closer, "I'm sure, as an artist, you have a great deal of creativity."

"I like to think so," Franz suppressed another nervous giggle and a shudder, mentally begging his husband, Lars, to forgive him as Yong Soo drew nearer.

His mind raced as he tried to remember where he'd stashed his weapons. There was a knife hidden in the padding of his chest, and he hoped he could get to it in time.

Yong Soo leaned over him, breath hot against his face and he scowled, deciding now was the time to act. There was a click and he tried to move his hand, but found it restrained by handcuffs. His head shot up in panic and he saw Yong Soo stand up, backing away and drawing a pistol from his blazer. He moved to stand, reaching for a knife with his free hand, but found himself staring down a loaded barrel.

"Just you try and move, Agent Edelweiss," Yong Soo growled, "I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

"I have no idea what-"

"Don't play me for a fool. Who else has long blond hair like yours? All I needed to do was rub a bit of make up off to confirm it. You're quite a distinctive young man, Edelweiss. Don't know why you were even hired."

Franz clenched his teeth, not daring to reach for any weapon or gadget and praying Peter was having better luck. He settled down in the chair and snarled.

"Fine," he whispered, "I give in."

Yong Soo chuckled, "well, it wasn't like you really had a choice."


	2. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nguyễn Kim-ly: Vietnam
> 
> …
> 
> This chapter's a bit more action-y, and contains a torture scene, guns, some blood, and violence so proceed with caution.

It was his aching shoulder and the feeling of awkward discomfort that woke Peter up. He groaned as his eyelids struggled to part, opening one eye blearily and finding himself staring at a blank ceiling. He wondered if he was dead. The pain in his shoulder said otherwise. A second groan was interrupted by the snapping voice of someone a metre or so away from him.

"Oh stop being such a baby," growled Franz, still trapped in his office chair, now bound by cuffs on both his hands, keeping his arms fixed to the arms of the chair.

"What… happen…" Peter's head swam as he tried to form coherent sentences; luckily Franz seemed to know what he was trying to ask.

"We were caught. We failed. The world is coming to an end."

"Oh, that all?" Peter replied sleepily, looking around. He was slumped against a wall in a tiny, dimmed office, earpiece and hidden weapons gone, wrists and ankles tied together, arms behind his back and the cold plaster and hard floor pressing against his body uncomfortably. Someone had taken his blazer, tie and trousers, probably in case there were yet more weapons hidden cleverly inside them. Peter shivered in his shirt and boxers. His muscles were stiff and sore, and his shoulder throbbed, though his partner appeared to be having little sympathy.

"Don't look at me like that!" he growled, "you're not exactly in a better position."

Franz just shrugged, turning his head.

"Where are we?"

"Isn't it obvious? We're in the frozen foods section of Lidl!" exclaimed Franz sarcastically, turning back to Peter.

"I'm serious."

"We're in that bastard's office."

"I see," Peter glanced around; "speaking of which, where is Mr Gun-Runner right now?"

"Who knows?"

"How come you didn't get a strip-search?"

"One of his men tried, the one who brought you in, under Im Yong Soo's orders, but I kicked him in the jaw when he tried to unzip me. He punched me in return, but didn't seem to keen to try again. They took the knives and pistols though."

"That's a shame."

As if on cue, Yong Soo entered the room carrying a triumphant air, as well as an old suitcase. He was followed by two armed guards, who stood either side of him and glared down at the captured spies.

"You'd think the DSA would know better than to send such amateurs," he commented. The DSA being the Deutschland Schutz Agentur, or Germany Protection Agency: an organisation with bases up and down the country. The agency's mission was to locate, infiltrate and destroy criminal and terrorist groups that threatened national and international security. Peter and Franz were trained agents in the South Berlin division.

"Did he just call us amateurs?" Peter asked Franz, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you blame him?"

"It's not usually like this," Peter explained, turning to Yong Soo, "normally we're really good at this espionage shit. Must be having an off day. Can we try again tomorrow?"

"No, and I'm afraid it's this 'off day' that's about to cost you your lives;" he wandered over to his desk, setting his suitcase down and opening it. He nodded at the two guards to leave, and they marched out, probably to stand watch in the corridor.

Peter wondered how long he'd been out, and if the other guests had already left, but those thoughts were quickly pushed to the back of his mind when Yong Soo pulled a meat cleaver from his suitcase. The spy shivered, squirming as the blade glinted in the lamplight, but Yong Soo shook his head, placing it back in the suitcase and pulling out a lighter.

"Much better," he muttered, turning to Peter and walking slowly over to him, flicking the tiny instrument on and off. Peter froze. Not fire. Anything but that!

"Pfft," Franz raised an eyebrow, "this is your torture? I've done scarier with my husband."

"Didn't need to know that, Edelweiss," complained Peter, staring at the lighter with distrust and dread, "look, couldn't you torture  _him_  instead? It might shut him up."

"Oh no, I have a feeling you'll be easier to crack," he knelt down before Peter, who shuddered. He couldn't stand fire, even little flames like that one.

Peter understood that he and Franz were on their own now. It was in the job description. If they were caught, they would not receive any assistance from HQ; no rescue mission, since they couldn't risk jeopardising more agents. He and Franz were pretty much disposable and would be left for dead, and they knew and accepted that when they'd first joined. They swore loyalty to the country, and vowed to never give anything away under interrogation, and even torture. Peter hoped he could live up to his vow.

Any escape plan depended on what he and Franz were able to do, which, under the circumstances, wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

"I bet you're wrong," Peter tried to wiggle away, but Yong Soo turned him around and grabbed his arm- wrists rubbing painfully against their ropes- and flicked on the lighter.

"Oh really? Well we'll have to see. I'm sure you'll soon be handing over the names of your colleagues, a few addresses even, valuable information I can go and sell on."

"Never," Peter managed to hiss out before hot flame licked at the sensitive skin of his lower arm. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.

"Come on now. Who's your immediate superior?"

Peter bit harder as another piece of his skin was attacked, and when it happened a third time, he couldn't stop himself kicking out blindly.

"Come on now, who's your immediate superior?"

"Your mother," he hissed out, earning a punch in the jaw.

"Where are you based?"

"I…"

"Yes?"

"Argh!"

Peter's mind was empty of rational thought. The only thing that filled his head was red hot pain and terror as he writhed in his spot, rope burns adding to his suffering. He let out a cry, much to his humiliation, but didn't answer the questions. He couldn't even if he wanted to, his mind was so blank.

"What is your real name?"

Peter screamed in reply.

Yong Soo growled, standing up and placing the lighter back in the suitcase before taking a meat tenderiser out of his makeshift torture kit. He called for one of his guards, who entered and took the instrument from him.

"I don't like getting my hands bloody," Yong Soo explained.

Peter squirmed as the burly man marched towards him, weighing the tenderiser up in his hands. He knew he'd not be able to get out of this. He'd be beaten unconscious, maybe even to death, and not receive one tiny shred of mercy. The only way to achieve that would be to betray the DSA- as well as the nation- and, quite frankly, he'd rather die.

But could he actually do that? Could he die a slow and painful death for a country he'd spent less than 20 years in?

He didn't get the chance to find out.

Franz shot up, swinging the chair over his head so it came crashing down on the guard's skull. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving, and Franz turned his attention towards Yong Soo. The gun-runner picked up the cleaver, throwing it blindly in the spy's direction. Franz only just dodged it and the knife landed above Peter's head, electing a small cry from him. The man quickly pulled himself to his knees and began using the blade to saw through his ropes.

Franz kicked Yong Soo in the gut and he hit the desk. The spy followed by bringing the chair down on his stomach and he stopped moving, flopping onto the floor with a groan. The impact shattered the chain of one of the cuffs, and Franz used the tenderiser to smash the other.

With both his hands free, he turned his attention to the second guard, who'd just burst in. Neither paid Peter any attention as they exchanged blows, Franz having the upper hand. The young man succeeded in freeing his hands, and pulled the meat cleaver out of the wall to work on his ankles. But his partner was tiring fast, and a few missed punches soon left him vulnerable to counterattack.

The guard threw Franz against the wall, shoving an arm against his throat to keep him immobile.

"Grandpa Seagull," he hissed, "do something!"

"A little busy now," Peter called back, sawing through the ropes. The guard pressed against Franz's throat harder, and the young man's eyes bulged.

" _Pe-ter_ ," he pleaded, as the man pulled a knife out of the suitcase to finish him off. Franz just had time to throw his arms in front of his chest before there was a flash of silver and he bellowed in agony. Peter glanced up as the last of his ropes fell away to find his partner cradling a bloody arm, whimpering as he eyed the knife, pulled back and aimed for his heart. The agent jumped up, clutching the cleaver in two hands as he lunged forward and buried it in the guard's skull. The man fell to the floor as blood poured from his head, Franz joining him on the ground.

"Cheers," he muttered, still holding his arm. Peter said nothing as he crouched down to inspect it further, and found his partner had a large gash running down his lower arm, blood tricking onto his hands and dress as a large chunk of his skin flapped uselessly, hanging from the wound. Peter winced at the sight.

"And yours?" Franz asked, and Peter showed him the blistered burns covering his own arms. Now it was his partner's turn to flinch.

Yong Soo groaned, pulling himself up and reaching into his blazer. Peter ducked as a gunshot rang through the room, but the bullet, fired from a shaky hand, hit the ceiling instead.

"Run!" cried Franz, pulling himself and Peter to their feet. They burst into the hall, doubling over as more gunshots followed.

"Someone stop them!" Yong Soo cried, hobbling into the hall after them and shouting into his mobile. The spies dashed into the deserted hall, Peter almost crashing to the ground as he slipped over the polished floor tiles in his socks. Franz ditched his heels, leaving them in the doorway as the burst into the garden, eyes scanning the gloom for their car.

They found it sat in the corner of the car park, and bounded over to it, wincing as the gravel attacked their feet.

"You'll have to drive," Franz hissed, "I don't think I can use my arm."

"Right," Peter jumped into the driver's seat, picking up the keys left on the cold leather by the valet and starting the engine. Franz got in the passenger's seat and Peter began driving off.

"Oh shit," Franz hissed as he glanced out of the window to find Yong Soo limping down the steps, more of his men streaming past and filling two other cars, Yong Soo himself getting in the nearest. They'd just made it out of the gates when their pursuers started their engines.

The pair thundered along Berlin's empty streets, Peter's reckless driving causing several near crashes in his attempt to escape. More shot fired from the cars behind them and Franz fumbled for the mobile stashed in the glove compartment.

"Boss," he barked after hitting speed dial, "we have a bit of a situation."

"I guessed as much," replied Andrei, "after, you know, your earpieces stopped working and we didn't hear a word for five hours."

"Did you miss us?" Peter butted in, mounting the pavement in his moment of distraction.

"Shut up Seagull," Franz ordered, "look, Agent Patch, we're in trouble, big time. Go to scenario 6."

"Right, Agent Yogurt," Andrei called, "scenario 6, now!"

"On it!" the hacker called back, barely heard by Franz on his end of the line.

"The Bodies will be ready seven miles south. They'll know where to find you."

"Right, got it," Franz hung up and turned to Peter. "You know what to do, right?"

"Vaguely," Peter admitted, wincing at his partner's glare; "don't worry. We'll just wing it!"

"I think I'll worry," Franz replied before the shattering of glass sent him ducking, curling up so his head was between his legs. When he dared peek up again, he found their back window smashed, cracks in the glass snaking with increasing intensity towards a tiny bullet hole. He gulped.

"Step on it, Grandpa Seagull!"

"Alright, alright!" Peter swerved into a side street, closely followed by the two enemy vehicles. They came out in a deserted commercial street, and took off in the direction of their rendezvous point.

"Will they be there?" Peter growled, glaring in Franz's direction for a second.

"The boss gave his word, didn't he?"

"It's still one heck of a gamble, on our part."

"All in a day's work" Franz winked, "we've been in stickier situations." He winced as the car screeched around another corner, nearly tipping over in the process. A few civilians- having heard the cars and guns approaching- ran onto the pavement screaming.

"I thought you Brits were supposed to be careful drivers!" Franz commented, clutching his seatbelt.

"Well that's what you get for stereotyping!" Peter shot back, "besides, I'm a wonderful driver, thank you very much!"

"Tell that to the cyclist you just knocked over!"

"Oh he bounced right back up!"

"I don't think he did," Franz nervously glanced back, but all he saw was a pair of flashy cars laden with gunmen speeding towards them. Peter briefly mounted the pavement again, knocking over a bin.

"This is how I'll die," Franz whined, sinking lower into his seat.

"Oh, shut up you ninny! Besides, we're nearly there so get the guns out!" Franz took a pair of handguns out of the glove compartment, stuffing one down his dress and keeping hold of the other. Peter swerved into a tiny opening, slamming his foot on the brakes as the car skidded to a halt in a tiny alleyway. Franz handed Peter the second gun, which he stuffed down his boxers, praying it didn't go off, then the pair stepped out of the vehicle with their hands behind their head.

The two pursuing cars had also stopped in the alley, Yong Soo standing in front of his posse, arms folded and mouth pulled into a smirk.

"It's a shame it had to come to this, Maria," he began mockingly, "but I guess that's how love works."

"Indeed," Franz replied.

The guards marched forward.

"Now?" Franz hissed at Peter, who shook his head ever so slightly.

"Wait for the signal."

They came closer; Yong Soo lingering behind, probably to keep him away from the bloodshed, and also to have a better view of it all.

"Can we afford to wait?" Franz and Peter were standing their ground, and one glance told Franz that his partner was shivering.

"The Boss won't let us down," Peter assured him, though he didn't look at all certain.

Franz closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow, but it never came. Instead, sirens ripped through the night air and the guards fell back, shouting and looking at Yong Soo uncertainly.

"Let's get out of here," he shouted, "it's the filth!"

The men hurried back to their cars, but the entrance to the alley was suddenly blocked by a screaming, silver police car and the two agents took that as the signal to draw their weapons.

Two blue-uniformed officers also drew their weapons as they jumped out of their car, firearms trained on Yong Soo. Behind them, more cars pulled up, carrying yet more polizei. Above them, a police helicopter roared as it hovered over the alley and one by one, the guards dropped their weapons, raising their hands in surrender. Yong Soo, realising he was cornered, soon followed.

…

"Thanks again, Officer Hassan, Officer Nguyễn," Peter said shakily, wrapped in a blanket and sat in the back of a police car, legs hanging out the open door. Franz stood next to the two polizei, letting Officer Hassan bandage him up enough to see him to A&E.

The police force worked closely with the DSA, but remained two separate organisations, the DSA being funded and managed directly by the government and the force controlled by the states. Whilst the police force alone were left to handle most criminal cases, the DSA were only called in when national and international security was likely to be compromised. Nevertheless, the DSA was unpopular with a large chunk of the police force, who distrusted their methods and freedom.

Officer Nguyễn just glared at him, nodding slowly.

"I really thought we were in trouble there," he admitted.

"And you nearly were," Officer Nguyễn replied.

"Kim-ly," Officer Hassan warned.

"I know that…"

"But thanks to you and your intelligence- and I mean that in the loosest sense- we've saved months that would've been spent looking for Im Yong Soo," Officer Nguyễn admitted, "so thank you."

Peter nodded, standing up; "so should we go to the hospital then?" He glanced at the police van, which had been loaded with the criminals and was about to drive off; "we seem pretty much done here."

"One thing first…" Kim-ly grabbed Peter's shoulder, flipping him round and slamming him against the car, keeping his face pressed against the roof as she stuffed his wrists into handcuffs.

"What the hell!?" cried Franz.

"I'm afraid I'm putting you under arrest," Officer Nguyễn told them.

"What for?" Peter hissed, tasting metal.

"Don't think we didn't see your reckless driving back there," the policewoman spat, "and our colleagues have informed us of that bloody mess you left at Im Yong Soo's house."

"That was in self-defence," Peter protested, wincing at the pain in his arms as the officer's clothes rubbed against his blisters.

"Are you seriously arresting him?" asked Franz nervously.

"Nah," Officer Nguyễn pulled away, removing the handcuffs; "just wanted to make sure he learns his lesson."

"What lesson would that be then?" asked Peter, rubbing his arms tenderly.

"Retake your fucking driving test!"

"Noted, now can we please go to hospital?"

"Of course," Officer Hassan sighed, "the sooner you get patched up, the sooner you can report back to your boss."

Peter and Franz exchanged anxious glances. Ah yes, Agent Patch. What would he have to say about all this?


	3. Debriefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alin- Romania
> 
> Agent Fondue/Luca Morgens- Luxembourg
> 
> Agent Magyar/Daniél Bajusz- Nyo Hungary
> 
> Agent Monte Carlo/Monique Bonnefoy- Monaco
> 
> Agent België/Anri Morgens- Belgium
> 
> Agent Yogurt/Tsvetan Borisov- Bulgaria
> 
> …
> 
> Chapter three. Not as much action in this, but plenty of plot development. To be honest though, I thought it would be longer.

"This isn't going to be good news, is it?"

Andrei Radacanu was an intuitive young man, and had a knack of knowing what people were going to say before they opened their mouths. Luckily, he was also equipped with the patience to let people finish speaking before arguing back- or occasionally agreeing- which made him slightly less difficult than he could be, much to the relief of those he worked with on a day-to-day basis. He had a strong spirit though, and a somewhat warped view on what was right and wrong, both courtesy of his older brother, Alin. Luckily, he hadn't inherited the older man's unusual fashion sense too.

Unfortunately, over the years, he had developed his own unique and- to those around him- embarrassing sense of style.

His dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had a tiny, neat goatee on his pointed chin. A miniature hat rested on his hair, similar to one Alin wore. He was short, but not as aggressive as expected for someone of his stature. He was fiercely protective of those he loved and those under his care though, and had already seen more than his fair share of tragedy for someone so young.

Andrei wore a brown, tweed suit that seemed to age him by twenty years. Though he'd never admit it, he wore it to seem more mature, since the leaders of the other divisions were far older than he, and he was afraid they wouldn't take him seriously if he didn't prove himself to be responsible and serious.

The man sat on the other side of him, Mr Beilschmidt, simply nodded. The tall, neat, and extremely serious young man was Andrei's link with the German government, and he respected the man greatly. After all, he wouldn't be sitting where he was without Ludwig Beilschmidt's help.

The pair had met on several occasions, ever since the taller man had visited his home in Chișinău and offered Andrei a job as head of the newly formed South Berlin Division of the DSA (with the original Berlin division now only in charge of North Berlin) after his assistance in bringing down several branches of the Bulgarian and Albanian mafias. Subsequent meetings rarely bode positive news, usually involving Ludwig informing him of a new an even more dangerous mission to send his agents on.

"I'm afraid to admit that the government was considering forcing you and your agents into early retirement."

"What?!"

"Although," Ludwig continued, "I convinced them to give the DSA South Berlin Division one final chance, there are a few conditions."

"Why would they get rid of us?" Andrei gaped at him in horror, "my agents are highly trained professionals! And who would protect southern Berlin if we were gone?"

"Agent Patch, I'm afraid your agents have had one series of near-failures too many. And the North Berlin division would take over again, with a larger team to manage the city, of course."

"But we've completed every mission set! Even if we're a bit unorthodox- quite ironic for me- we get the job done. So we've had a few setbacks?" He waved a hand airily, "hell, even tonight we've finally tracked down and apprehended the notorious Im Yong Soo!"

"And destroyed half a neighbourhood in the process!" Ludwig growled, "as well as injuring several civilians."

"Oh my God they let Seagull drive," Andrei rested his head in his hands.

"Whilst we applaud your success. Successes, even. We cannot ignore your shortcomings."

"I understand, but still! They can't do this to us!" Andrei cried; "these are our livelihoods you're talking about!"

"You're not jobless just yet," Ludwig gave a small smile, "like I said, you're getting one more chance to prove yourselves."

"Of course, thank you so much!" Andrei considered kissing his shoes, but decided that might be too forward. Plus, he still had his pride.

"With conditions," Ludwig reminded him.

"Ah, right, and those are?"

"Firstly, you are to receive a new recruit. He has recently completed his training and will aid you in your upcoming mission."

"So the government's spying on the spies now?" Andrei raised an eyebrow.

"No, that's my job. Mr Luca Morgens, or Agent Fondue, is independent from the government, like the rest of you; I'll send you his file tomorrow." Ludwig sighed at the other's distrustful expression. "He's just here to help."

"Ah yes, and what exactly will he be helping me with?"

"That's the second condition," Ludwig explained, "you are to be working more closely with the North Berlin division, and you and Agent Magyar will have full authority over the agents in both your groups."

"I see," Andrei sighed, "you're not telling me what all this is for though."

"I'm just getting to that, Radacanu. The third condition is that you devote your full time to the 'Commonwealth' case."

"But Agent Yogurt's already devoting large portions of his spare time to assist Magyar's team. Have they seriously made no headway?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. And civilian casualties are still rising," Ludwig rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Agent Monte Carlo's brother was shot dead in his home a few weeks ago. And Agent België's brother was poisoned last year. They seem to have worked out some of the agents' identities and targeting their families, whoever 'they' are. Oh, that reminds me: Agent Fondue is Agent België's younger brother, so try to be sensitive to his feelings. He's still hurting. In fact, I think that's why he decided to go through the training."

"Revenge?"

"It appears so."

"That could make him dangerous," Andrei commented.

"And dedicated," Ludwig reminded him, "he's willing to lay down his life to stop Commonwealth."

"I see," Andrei sighed, "so will you send me the brief tomorrow? Then I can tell my agents everything. Right now, they need to rest and heal."

"They do indeed," Ludwig stood up, "You have a year to complete the mission, or it's curtains. I'm afraid you all have tough days ahead of you."

"Nothing we can't handle," Andrei assured him. Ludwig nodded, seemingly satisfied, and left. The door had barely swung shut when it was opened again by Peter and Franz, who looked very pleased with themselves indeed, despite bandaged arms and dishevelled appearances. Thankfully, Peter had thought to borrow a spare pair of trousers from the HQ's cloakroom.

'HQ' was the name given to one floor of an office building along the River Spree, opposite a similar building on the other side of the river that housed the North Berlin Division. The floor containing HQ was separate from the rest of the building, and inaccessible from the other storeys. The workers on the other floors weren't even aware of this floor's existence. The four, now five, agents of the South Berlin division accessed HQ from a secret entrance in the sub-surface car park, in an 'out of order' lift that brought them up. The interiors were modern, but humble, and agents enjoyed access to a cloakroom, gym, mess room, first aid station for minor injuries, kitchen and toilets, as well as Andrei's office and some bunks, in case any of the agents were too tired to travel home.

"Look who's back, boss!" exclaimed Peter, striding around the desk to give Andrei a hug, who politely pushed him away.

"Sit down you two," he growled, "it's debriefing time."

"Well we did it, boss," Franz began breathlessly; "we got evidence, got Im Yong Soo behind bars-"

"Got captured."

The duo winced.

"It's happened before! But we always get out," Peter winked.

"You ended up in Accident and Emergency because you were both severely injured," Andrei glared at Franz. "And you! Letting Seagull drive an actual car! Do you have a death wish?"

"No, I was just simply unable to use a steering wheel," Franz held up his bandaged hand; "believe me when I say I was truly desperate when I let him drive."

"I'm right here, you know!" Peter butted in agitatedly.

"We're painfully aware," Franz rolled his eyes.

"Besides, my arms were injured too!" he held up his own arms, swollen and covered in plasters, "can someone please congratulate me on driving with second degree burns?"

"Of course, it was a very admirable feat," Andrei smiled, polite but warm and genuine.

"Damn right it was!"

"Nevertheless, we don't have time to celebrate," Andrei told them; "we've been given our next assignment and it'll take all we've got to complete it quickly and with minimal damage and loss of life."

"But-" Peter began.

"Yes, you both can have time off to heal. Then I want you on this case."

"It's not that…"

Andrei sighed, reaching a hand out and resting it on Peter's; "I know you wanted to investigate the Oxenstjärna incidents, but they'll have to wait. Our entire agency depends on the success of this mission."

"I need to know what happened to them," Peter muttered.

"And you will!" Andrei assured him, "but duty must come first. This country needs us, maybe the whole continent, even."

"But why is this mission suddenly more important than the others?" Franz asked.

"Because if we fail," Andrei told him gravely, "then the South Berlin Division will be shut down."

Before the almost certain onslaught of questions from the two agents could occur, the door to Andrei's office burst open and Agent Yogurt fell into the room.

"Andrei!" he cried, "something's… something…" His dark hair was sticking out everywhere, and there were tears streaming down his blotchy face. Even his jumper and jeans were dishevelled, and he wore a headset around his neck, ripped from its socket in the man's haste to reach Agent Patch. Agent Yogurt trembled visibly, shaking hands held limply by his sides.

"Tsvetan?" Andrei stood up, fingertips resting against the wooden desk, "what's wrong?"

"My hu… husband… he's…"

"Alin? What's happened to Alin?" None of the agents had seen Andrei speak so softly before, or so broken and frightened.

"He's… dead! Our children too!" And with that, Tsvetan collapsed on the ground.


	4. Family ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hestia- Nyo Greece
> 
> Kuzey- TRNC
> 
> Naranbaatar- Mongolia
> 
> Stelios- Cyprus
> 
> Liz/Elizabeth- Nyo England
> 
> Angelique- Seychelles
> 
> And the ocs:
> 
> Temel- Aden
> 
> Cora- Kazai
> 
> D'Andre- Jamaica
> 
> Malika- Malaysia
> 
> …
> 
> Ah, once again, sorry for the delay. But nevertheless, here's the next chapter!
> 
> Aden is a micronation in Turkey, and Kazai is a micronation in Cyprus. Temel and Cora, who represent those micronations, are my ocs. As is D'Andre. Drawings of them can be found on my art blog, theonlywayissealand. Malika is peteradnan's oc, and can be found on their blog.
> 
> Warning, this chapter contains mentions of Turgre and Giripan.

Sadik knew he shouldn't be this happy.

Nothing good ever came from being called to the Boss' office. The crew were usually given their tasks by a messenger- one of the Boss' favourites- so whenever one of them was called into the office, it could only mean that she was displeased with them.

And bad things happened when the Boss was displeased with you.

But Sadik didn't care.

He'd been reunited with his children.

He took a battered old photograph out of his wallet and smiled down at it. It had been taken nearly eleven years ago, when his youngest- Temel- had been a newborn baby, and consisted of him, his wife Hestia, and their four children: all wide grins and milk teeth. Hestia's face had been scratched out in a rage some years back.

To say their divorce had been messy was an understatement. It had been nearly a year of screaming and fighting before the papers were finally signed and he'd moved out. They fought when he came round to pick the kids up at weekends, and it was almost a relief when she told him she planned to move to Cyprus with the kids and her new boyfriend- one of his (former) best friends, no less!

Well, almost.

In the few months before she left, they'd probably fought more than they'd ever done before, if that was even possible. There was no way he would let her just move his children to a different country without a fight! He'd never afford to fly out to visit them, and she'd never want to visit him, so there was little chance of him seeing his children until they were old enough to fly back and visit him themselves. If they wanted to. What if they forgot about him completely? Sadik had shouted, pleaded, did everything he could to convince Hestia to stay in Germany, but she left anyways.

And he didn't hear from his children for nine years.

Then a few months ago, his second oldest, Kuzey, had gotten in touch with him after convincing Kiku- his stepfather and Sadik's ex-best friend- to give him Sadik's email address. Sadik had replied to Kuzey's first email with teary eyes. After exchanging a few lengthy messages, the boy- now man- had told him he'd convinced Hestia to let all four of them live with him for a few months, just to get to know their dad again. The oldest two were now adults, so she had no problem letting them go on their own.

He'd sat there for half an hour in stunned silence, staring at his computer screen with wide eyes. He was allowed to see them again?

When he finally pulled himself out of his stupor long enough to reply, the answer was an immediate and enthusiastic yes.

A few months of planning later, and Sadik found himself waiting at the airport for all four of them. He'd teared up as he pulled them into a tight hug and talked excitedly in the car on the way home.

Of course, his ecstatic mood had been dampened slightly by the behaviours of two of the kids…

"Don't tell me, you spilled some of the boxes going round a corner?"

Sadik pulled himself out of his thoughts and found his cousin staring down at him, a mixture of amusement and worry on his face. Naranbaatar's long, dark hair was tied neatly into a plait, as it always was, and he was dressed smartly.

"Huh?" Sadik asked. He'd not heard his cousin's question.

Naranbaatar rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Did you spill some of the boxes you were driving to and fro?"

"I don't think so."

"Insult the Boss' hair?"

"No. I'm not stupid!"

"Debatable. Did you ask too many questions?"

"You mean like you're doing right now?" Sadik smirked.

"Then what is it?" Naranbaatar sighed and sat on the flimsy, plastic chair next to Sadik, "I'm just worried about my baby cousin, that's all." The hall they were sat in was deserted, everyone else either carrying out tasks or lounging about in their sorry excuse of a mess room. Then again, considering that their mess room was a tiny corner of the storeroom, it was lucky they had one at all.

"Hey, enough of the baby rubbish! I'm only a year younger."

"But you act like a little baby!" Naranbaatar ruffled Sadik's hair and the pair laughed. Despite being in their late forties now, they could still act like a pair of little kids every now and again.

"Well maybe getting another chance to be a dad will help with that."

"Ah yes, how are your children settling in?"

It was Naranbaatar who had gotten Sadik a job here, two months ago. His old position as a housekeeper in a hotel wasn't paying nearly enough to support five people so he had looked for other job opportunities, but no luck. It was then that Naranbaatar told him about his own job, a seemingly simple occupation involving driving trucks to different warehouses and dingy shops. Sadik had been sceptical, until Naranbaatar talked numbers. And Sadik liked the numbers he heard.

He should've known.

No job that easy and that well paying could be legal. Sadik never dared look in the back of any of the trucks he drove- it wasn't his business. It was clearly illegal, but there was no way he was willing to investigate. Not only would getting his boss arrested rob him of his wages, but he was too scared of this mysterious boss to go against her. He hadn't met 'Liz' personally- only spoken to her on the phone when he first applied- but he'd heard stories about her cruel temper. She was rumoured to have bumped off several of her workers already, and he didn't want to end up in a river or ditch, not with his added, precious responsibilities. It was all probably a load of nonsense though. Who the hell was allowed to get away with killing their own employees? But that wasn't the only thing he'd heard about this boss, and if even half of what he'd been told were true, then that would make Liz a very dangerous person indeed.

It was a wonder that he wasn't more afraid of finally meeting her.

"Well, some have settled in more than others," Sadik admitted. It turned out that two of his children- Stelios and Cora- blamed him somewhat for all the fights between him and their mother. He and Hestia were both to blame for the demise of their marriage, and Sadik was willing to admit that, but their children had apparently taken sides. At least Kuzey and Temel were prepared to give him a chance.

Cora was utterly terrified of him, whilst Stelios just seemed like he didn't know how to act around him, fluttering about in a nervous, agitated manner. Sadik hoped they'd soon calm down. 

"Give them time," Naranbaatar told him, "they're still getting used to being in a strange country."

"If you say so." There was a pause, then Sadik gave a small, nervous cough. "Will we be expecting a visit from Uncle Naranbaatar anytime soon?"

"No. I'd rather not get involved with your noisy offspring." He wrinkled his nose.

"No need to worry about noise," Sadik winked, "they're all moody teenagers and sensible adults now!"

"Still, I think I will give it a miss."

"Oh come on, please," he glanced over hopefully, "they only get visits from one uncle at the moment, and I'd rather keep his influence to a minimum."

"Hestia's twin still giving you grief?"

"Heracles is a prick," Sadik confirmed.

"I'm sure you'll get along eventually."

"Cousin, it's been nearly thirty years now, and we still hate each other."

"The Boss will see you now."

Sadik looked up to find young D'Andre Morgan glaring at him from a few metres away. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and coughed impatiently. He was a relatively tall, serious man who could actually be pretty fun, once you got to know him. And not many people did.

"Of course," Sadik stood up as Naranbaatar made a hasty exit. He followed D'Andre down the corridor and around a corner to a door guarded by two girls, dressed in matching dark uniforms. The shorter of the pair had her long, frizzy hair tied into two red ribbons whilst the taller wore her hair loose, decorated with a rafflesia.

"Angelique, Malika," D'Andre smiled warmly at them whilst Sadik nodded politely. Liz's Death Angels still scared him. It wasn't that they were particularly terrifying individuals, it was just that he had no desire to find out why they were called 'Death Angels'.

D'Andre opened the door to Liz's office, and Sadik braced himself.

"I brought him, Boss," he began, and Sadik noticed how tense he had become. But he didn't have time to ponder the man's sudden- and rather reasonable- hostility.

Liz was staring at him with interest.

So he stared back.

Sadik had a tendency to gawk, so he'd been told, but that never stopped him from taking a good gander at anyone he found interesting. And Liz was very interesting indeed.

She was smaller than he'd imagined, slight and almost petite. Her long blond hair was tied into a neat ponytail and green eyes shone behind thin glasses. She was dressed smartly, like a businesswoman, in her blouse and waistcoat.

She did not smile at him though.

"Thank you, Mr Morgan," she began, "you may leave us in peace now."

D'Andre nodded and turned swiftly, dreadlocks hitting Sadik's arm lightly as he walked out.

"Mr Adnan," Liz began, "please, take a seat." Her voice was polite and formal, but there was something about it that told Sadik to never refuse one of her requests or there'd be trouble. He sat in the hard chair opposite her desk.

"You wanted to see me, Boss?" he asked, mouth dry.

"Yes," she smiled sweetly, "it appears you are a very efficient employee, Mr Adnan."

"I try my best," he beamed, "gotta support my kids."

"Ah yes, your children." Liz looked down at a stack of papers in a folder, closing it when Sadik tried to glance at its contents. "Would you mind telling me a bit about them?"

"Err, sure," Sadik's bushy brows knotted together; what the hell was all this about? "Well, I have four, three sons and a daughter, Stelios, Kuzey, Cora and Temel. My ex-wife and I took turns in naming them. To be honest, I don't know much about them; they've been living in Cyprus for about ten years. Just moved over here last week."

"And how are they liking Germany?"

"It's a bit cold, apparently," Sadik gave a short, nervous laugh, "but they think it's nice."

"Cyprus, huh?" Liz rubbed her chin thoughtfully, "an EU member since 2004, in the Eurozone, looking to become part of the Schengen area, is it not?"

"Err, sure, probably," Sadik never really cared to learn about the place his children had been taken to.

"And how old are your children?"

Sadik blinked at the question. "Um, twenty-five, twenty-two, sixteen and eleven."

"Perfect!" Another cold smile, "Mr Adnan, your family must work for me at once! Their knowledge could prove useful indeed."

"I'm sorry?" Sadik stared at her in horror, mouth open. "What knowledge?"

"Of their corner of the EU!" Liz clapped her hands together.

"I hardly doubt they know much. And what does a delivery company want to know about Cyprus and the EU for?"

"Potential markets," she replied simply. It was a lie, but he didn't dare question it.

"But my children cannot work for you!" he cried, "it's probably not even legal to employ someone Temel's age. And they've just moved here!"

"I hardly doubt the police would be interested in an eleven year old earning some pocket money." Liz raised an eyebrow, "and I'm sure you could do with the money. Four extra wages is quite a substantial amount."

"What about Cora and Temel's schooling?"

"They'd only be working part time." Liz's eyes narrowed, "please don't argue back. I don't like people who argue back. It makes me angry."

"Sorry, Boss," Sadik stared at his knees, trying with all his might not to cry. He never allowed himself to cry in front of others.

"They will start work on Monday."

"But… they haven't even agreed to this!" he sobbed.

"I'm sure you can find a way to convince them. If not, maybe one of my Death Angels can pay you all a visit."

"That won't be necessary," Sadik gasped, paling considerably, "they'll be here!"

"Good. I expect to look out of my window nine o'clock Monday morning to find four new members pitter-pattering about loading and unloading lorries."

"They will!" Sadik almost gave her a salute, he was so anxious.

"Good," Liz gave a single, slow nod, "you are dismissed."

Sadik almost ran from the room. He stumbled down the corridor as watery tears blurred his vision and stung his sockets, finally coming to a rest in a deserted part of the building. He leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down until he was crouched, hugging his knees on the floor.

"My children," he sobbed, "my dear children. I'm sorry. I failed you." He rested his head against the cold plaster behind him.

"What have I dragged you into now?"


	5. Scene of the crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took ages to write, mostly because I kept getting distracted and needed to research, which I kept procrastinating on.
> 
> Warning for dead bodies in this chapter.
> 
> Okay, so if you're familiar with Skender, Dragomir and Eugen, skip this paragraph. The three kids represent the two Romanian and one Bulgarian micronations. Dragomir represents Wirtland in Bulgaria, Skender represents Valia in Romania and Eugen represents the Federal Republic of South-Eastern Carpathians, which boarders both Romania and Moldova.

Everyone always said that the Borisov-Radacanu residence would end up behind police tape one day.

There was just something weird about the family that lived there, the entire street said. The parents were far too odd, too eccentric, too secretive. They barely spoke German, and never talked to their neighbours. If anyone tried to strike up a conversation, they would panic, mumble something about being busy, then shuffle away. The children were more friendly, but only the oldest could hold a conversation, the other two being babies. And even little Skender- a quiet, shy, introverted child- sometimes refused to answer questions. It was like his parents had sworn him into secrecy on certain subjects.

The parents themselves had a great number of subjects they refused to talk about. Their jobs, for one, plus their home life, pasts, extended family.

And one of them kept showing up with injuries.

Concerned neighbours had called the police several times about the cuts and bruises Mr Borisov had sustained to the face, arms and torso but they brushed it off and no one knew why. Not even one visit had been made. Because of that, people tended to find excuses to visit. Ask Mr Radacanu tough questions. Closely observe the three boys for signs of injury too. They never had any, but that didn't stop everyone from worrying about them. They were so little! The truth- that Mr Borisov was working as a spy, and tended to end up in fights- was too far-fetched for even the wildest imaginations among the neighbourhood gossips.

And now this.

Unsurprisingly, nobody knew what exactly had happened, but in the few hours since the police had first arrived, rumours were already circulating that Mr Borisov had murdered his husband and three children.

Which was why, when the already emotionally drained Tsvetan stumbled out of Andrei's car, he was horrified to hear a string of abuse from the small crowd being held back by tape and policemen.

"Murderer!"

"Scum!"

"Oh leave him alone! We all know that husband of his was using him as a punch bag! Remember all those bruises?"

"That's no excuse for murder!"

"I understand doing in that bastard husband, but to slaughter his own children too?"

"Just typical of your lot!"

Before Tsvetan could protest that, Andrei dragged him through the crowd towards a familiar face. The shorter man refused to look at anyone, face grim and drained. He marched them over to the polizei standing at the edge of the cordoned off garden.

"Officer Hassan!" he called.

The young policeman's usually impassive expression was graced with the slightest hint of pity and guilt as he nodded at the pair.

"What happened?" He was right in front of Officer Hassan now, "please tell me it isn't true!"

"I'm afraid your brother's body was found earlier in his home."

"And our children?" Tsvetan took Officer Hassan's hand, silently begging the man to give him some hope.

"The crime scene investigators- the fieldworkers- have only found two so far, the youngest two. Both dead. Skender Radacanu-Borisov has been reported missing, but," he sighed, rubbing his face with a hand, "we're not hopeful, if I'm completely honest."

"No, he'll be alive, he has to be!"

"We'll soon see."

"Can we go in?" Andrei asked.

"Absolutely not!" Officer Hassan wrinkled his nose, "neither of you have any qualifications in crime scene investigation. And I hardly doubt you and Mr Borisov are in any emotional state to be seeing… well, to be seeing what's inside."

Tsvetan shook his head, allowing Officer Nguyễn- who'd just joined them- to lead him to a waiting ambulance. She sat him down between the open back doors and ambulance personnel passed a steaming mug of tea into his hands, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

"We'll find your son," she promised, "and find out what happened to the others."

More shouts from a few metres away caught Tsvetan's attention, and he winced.

"You have to know, I didn't do it! I'd never…"

"That's for us to decide," Officer Nguyễn told him firmly, "the crime scene investigators will collect their evidence. We will process that evidence, and use it to find suspects."

"I was at work all night," Tsvetan insisted, "any of my colleagues will tell you! You can check the CCTV footage if you want."

"All in good time," Officer Nguyễn sighed.

"I love my family so much," he whispered, trembling as he warmed his hands on the mug.

"I'm sure you do."

"Can't you make that lot go away?" Tsvetan nodded at the angry crowd, and Officer Nguyễn sighed.

"Oy, clear out!" she shouted, shooing them away, "this is a crime scene!"

A few begrudgingly wandered off, but most stayed put. She tried again.

"I'll arrest the whole fucking lot of you! Now leave us to investigate in peace!"

"Investigate?" cried one man, "we all know that monster did it! Lock him up and throw away the key!"

Tsvetan shrank away, too nervous and grief-stricken to defend himself. He sat there silently, feeling absolutely wretched. He hadn't murdered them- Tsvetan wouldn't dream of doing something so disgustingly evil- but it was still his fault they were dead! He still had no idea how Alin and his youngest two had been killed, but was willing to bet there was some way he could've prevented it. Of course there was! The problem was that he spent too much time at work. Maybe if he'd been home he could've protected them…

He couldn't do this anymore. Working long hours, risking his life and never seeing his family, that wasn't how to live! And now most of his family was dead. He'd never see Dragomir and Eugen grow up. He'd never hold them close and feel the warmth of their tiny, precious bodies again. Eugen was still a baby! And Dragomir was barely walking and mumbling out words. And Alin. His dear Alin. The love of his life and father of his children! Tsvetan refused to believe he was gone. This all had to be an elaborate joke! Any minute now, Alin and the children would come bursting out of somewhere and laugh at his reaction.

But even Alin wouldn't be twisted enough to fake his own death for a prank, let alone fake his children's deaths. He had a warped sense of humour, but he hated the thought of their three sons being hurt in any way. And even if he was, there was no way he'd be able to rope two respectable policemen into going along with it too!

There was something shady about this entire situation and Tsvetan hated being kept in the dark.

He thought about the other agents, the ones who had lost loved ones recently. Agents België and Monte Carlo both had brothers who'd been killed, whose deaths had been linked to Commonwealth, and now here he was, only months after joining them on the case, facing a similar tragedy.

Maybe it was time to quit the agency before he lost everything.

The more he thought of it, the more Tsvetan found comfort in the idea. Once Skender had been found, he would take the child and leave the country. Skender was Alin's biological son, and Tsvetan's stepson, and had never actually seen Bulgaria before. Maybe they could move there. Somewhere along the coast, Varna or Burgas, where they could get by, Tsvetan earning money by fixing computers for locals and tourists. Something small and peaceful. He had to protect what little he had left, and besides, even if his innocence was proven, Tsvetan had a feeling life here would become very unpleasant indeed. An innocent verdict would probably not stop his neighbours treating him with anything from suspicion to outright hatred.

More cars turned up, and Tsvetan noticed Officer Nguyễn wince.

"The press," she growled, "quick, get inside the ambulance while I talk to them." Tsvetan shakily stood up and climbed in the back of the ambulance whilst Officer Nguyễn shut the doors before turning to argue with various journalists and camera crews.

Andrei, meanwhile, was grilling the other police officer for answers.

"Can't you tell us anything about the nature of these killings?" he pressed.

"I'm afraid not;" Officer Hassan was visibly uncomfortable, "we don't now much yet, and it's far too early to be making accusations."

Andrei leaned in closer, "it's a Commonwealth killing, isn't it?"

"I honestly don't know! The fieldworkers only arrived a few minutes before you did. We only just secured the scene of the crime shortly before that. It'll be hours before we know anything. Then we must process the data, arrest potential suspects and try them in court."

"I understand," Andrei rubbed his face, though his grief still shone through. He was trying his best to keep a clear head, but all he wanted to do was scream and shout, to rush in and see his brother for himself. Alin couldn't be dead, surely! It had to be a lie! 

"And we'll be arresting Mr Borisov too."

"But he didn't do it!"

"We cannot know that for certain."

"He's been with me the whole day," Andrei exclaimed.

"Then we'll treat you both as suspects."

Andrei glared at him. "Alin was- is- my brother! Those are my baby nephews you're talking about! How dare you-"

"We need to treat everyone with suspicion."

"Well, we have an alibi; we can prove we've been at work all day."

"Prove it and Borisov can walk free," Officer Hassan let out a sigh.

"We shall." Andrei paused for a few moments, nodding slowly before leaning closer. "It's a Commonwealth-related death, isn't it?"

"We can't say!" Officer Hassan exclaimed, "we don't know yet!"

"Look, it's funny that as soon as Borisov starts working on that case, someone takes a pop at his family, just like the two in Magyar's group."

"Take it up with Agent Magyar then," Officer Hassan hissed, "it's his case."

"It's ours now too," Andrei corrected, "we've been put on the case along with Magyar's group. So you have to tell us what you know about anything that even smells like it could be related to Commonwealth."

Hassan grimaced, for the briefest of moments, before the blank façade was back on his face.

"If it turns out to be Commonwealth related, then we will contact you."

"I'd still like to assist in the investigation, if you don't mind," Andrei's lip quivered, "that's my brother in there…"

"Which is why we need you to distance yourself from this particular crime scene," Officer Hassan reasoned, "your emotions could impair your judgement. You're grieving. Let the police handle this one."

"But-"

"Perhaps I could help?"

The pair turned around to find a young man staring at them hopefully. He was neat, and appeared wealthy, judging by his expensive suit, immaculate down to his gold cufflinks. His light, fluffy hair was combed back and his soft, teal eyes were curious.

"And you are?" Andrei raised an eyebrow.

"Luca Morgens, or Agent Fondue, if you will." Luca smiled at Andrei warmly.

"Ah, so you're the new agent? But what the hell are you doing here? You don't start work until Monday!"

"Well," Luca's smile turned sheepish, "I was on my way to HQ to introduce myself and just as I was entering the car park, I saw you and Agent Yogurt leave in a massive hurry and, well, I decided to follow you see what was happening."

"Well, you certainly have the makings of a spy," Andrei commented, ignoring Luca's outstretched hand.

Luca turned his attention to Officer Hassan; "I'm not married or related to any of the victims, so could I assist the fieldworkers?"

"I don't know," the policeman frowned, "are you a forensics expert?"

"I have a Masters in forensic science," Luca sniffed, "I think I can handle myself."

"Fine," he hissed, "see that tent there? Go get changed in it and see what they want you to do."

"Right!" Luca gave a beaming smile, but Andrei found himself frowning.

"Hang on a moment," he growled, "if you followed me and Agent Yogurt as closely as you said, how come it's taken you this long to make yourself known?"

Luca grinned sheepishly. "Well, I was spying, wasn't I? Plus, I had to get past the angry policewoman over there. Didn't want to let me past, even after showing her my ID. Or, should that be, _especially_ after… She doesn't seem to be too fond of the DSA; any idea why that is, Agent Patch?"

"None whatsoever."

"Do I detect some venom in that response?"

"Detect as much venom as you like," Andrei shrugged, "makes no difference to me."

"Would my sneezing over the crime scene make a difference to you?"

Andrei narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Of course not," Luca's smile turned cold as he pushed past, "wouldn't dream of it! Besides, I'll be wearing a mask!"

Andrei continued to glare at the retreating mop of fluffy, blond hair.

…

Luca was determined not to mess this up. It was his first job working for somewhere like the DSA and he needed to make such an opportunity turn into a success. He owed it to his brother and sister.

It was lucky that he'd been put on the Commonwealth case immediately. He'd heard rumours that Agent Seagull- one of his apparent new workmates- had spent years in the agency and still had no leads on how his own two siblings had died, which was why he'd signed up in the first place. Murder, of course. But by who?

At least Luca knew who killed his older brother. Well, he knew what organisation was responsible, which was a start. And it was the organisation he was about to go up against.

He only hoped he wouldn't share his brother's fate.

Luca entered the house wearing a white, protective uniform, plastic overshoes and a surgical mask. His silk gloves had been replaced by two layers of rubber ones. The uniform included a hood that covered his bouncy hair, and Luca knew all this would seriously reduce the danger of evidence contamination.

The Crime Scene Manager had told him that three bodies had been located so far and that the eldest child was still missing, though they hadn't searched the entire house yet, too preoccupied with securing the crime scene and searching for evidence outside before it was ruined by rain or wind. He didn't acknowledge the CSIs collecting evidence from possible exit and entry routes around the house, since they were too wrapped up in their work and didn't need distraction. Besides, he had his own job to do.

His orders were to search the second storey of the building for any possible evidence, and Skender Radacanu.

Tsvetan had provided a small photo of the child from his wallet, and that happy, chubby face was still burnt into his memory. The scruffy brown hair that plastered his jaw and shoulders. Calm, dark green eyes.

Luca prayed such a tiny, helpless child was still alive.

He walked into the hall, past the body of Dragomir Borisov, where a photographer was taking pictures of the toddler, particularly the gunshot wounds littering his back. Another scene of crime officer stood beside them, taking notes.

Luca glanced in through the sitting room door, where two more bodies were being photographed. Alin Radacanu was sprawled out in the middle of the carpet, head twisted at a sickening angle. Most hauntingly of all, was little Eugen Radacanu, still in his baby basket, throat slit.

Luca's heart sank as he looked away, feeling more than a little ill. He thought of Tsvetan, pale and terrified, sat in the ambulance trying to deny the whole thing, even though he knew, deep down, that they were gone. The young agent hated to see what had probably been a proud man reduced to a mere shell, and to see innocent people butchered in such a way.

He tried to touch as little as possible as he climbed the stairs, glancing around with apprehension as he reached the landing.

It was all too easy to find the child.

Luca's legs trembled as he walked to the door riddled with bullet holes. He half expected blood to start leaking from the tiny wounds, and it took every ounce of resolve to place a hand on the door handle and slowly prize the thing open.

And there it was, crouched at the bottom of an airing cupboard and covered in blood.

The tiny, four year old body of Skender Radacanu.


	6. Revenge and a pure heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lars- Ladonia
> 
> …
> 
> Here we go, more characters! Also some Sufin, ladkug, and micronation ocs. The ocs being Björn and Eemeli. Björn is Peteradnan's oc for the Bjornsocialist republic in Sweden, Berwald's youngest biological son whilst Eemeli is my oc for Valtio, the micronation in Finland and Tino's only biological son. Also, Yrjan and Hemming are more Swedish micronations, personifying Jamtland and Wikingland respectively, but you don't need to know much about them yet.

"Hey, Lars?" Franz yawned as he stumbled through his front door, glancing in the hall mirror and sighing at his tattered dress and tangled hair.

The flat was still and quiet, and Franz couldn't help but feel more than a little nervous as he entered the sitting room, stylish and modern, decorated by Franz himself. Late morning sunlight filtered in through the windows, onto a motionless body.

But Lars Oxenstjärna-Edelstein was only sleeping, slumped at his computer desk, snoring and drooling over his drawing tablet.

"He's pushing himself again," Franz sighed. He walked over to his husband and nudged him awake. Lars blinked slowly, lifting his head up, ginger hair tousled and glasses askew.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Franz murmured with a small smile.

"Is it morning already?" Lars fixed his glasses and dived under the desk, presumably to retrieve his tablet pen.

"Afraid so," replied Franz, "I told you not to wait up for me."

"Well, I didn't, in the end. Where is that damn thing… Aha! Found it-OW!" There was a bump, and Lars emerged from under the table, clutching his head in one hand and his pen in the other. "I wanted to be there for you when you came in, so did a bit of work to pass the time." He stared at his computer screen and frowned, "it seems I didn't get a lot done."

"Well don't push yourself so hard!"

"But I need to get them done and-" Lars glanced up and cried out, "what happened to you?"

"Oh?" Franz looked at his bandaged arm and laughed, "not much! You should see the other guy! Well, you can't cause Peter killed him, but still…"

"How horrible for you both!" Lars exclaimed, standing up and pulling his husband into a hug.

"Sounds like we could both do with a nice relax and a sleep," Franz commented, taking off his shoes, a pair of pumps he found in the cloakroom at HQ. "Luckily I'm off until next week!"

"That's fantastic," Lars grinned, "we can spend some time together at last. If I can just get these few illustrations done…"

"I know. I'd love to get some drawing done myself. Never have any time to do that anymore." He sighed, "I hope Peter can manage without me for a few days."

"He can, probably," Lars replied, "is my brother okay?"

"A bit injured too, but he'll pull through. He's well enough to go to work before me though."

"That's making me worry even more," Lars groaned, plopping down on the sofa. Franz joined him. "You won't be there to keep him out of trouble!"

"I'm not his babysitter, I'm his partner," Franz rolled his eyes; "Peter can look after himself."

"I know, but…" Lars took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, "after what happened with Yrjan and Hemming…. And Björn's condition is hardly getting any better… And Eemeli's always been a worry."

"I know it must be stressful," Franz agreed, "I wish I saw more of my sister too." Lars grimaced. "I know you two don't get along much, but she's family!"

"I know, I know," Lars sighed.

"And Peter will be fine; he's thirty! And if he does get into trouble, he has the other spies to back him up."

"If you say so…"

Franz rested his hand on Lars'. "Look, I just want to spend this week alone with you. Something has happened and… I just need to be with you, okay?"

"What happened?"

"This might take a while to explain…"

…

_That evening_

…

"Is he still asleep?" Tino asked his husband, who nodded. He sighed as he continued to wash the dishes whilst Berwald fidgeted with a newspaper, flicking through the pages, slumped at the dining table in his dressing gown and slippers. He ran a paw of a hand through his grey hair, wrinkled face creased into a glare of worry.

"Did he say anything to you when he came in?"

Berwald shook his head.

Tino sighed again.

"He just told me he was tired and would explain everything when he woke up."

The pair fell into an agonising silence, minds filled with worry. Tino's hands trembled as he washed glasses, and he had to squint to see them. He was elderly now, with silver hair and a pot-belly from a life of drinking and snacking on sweets. Tino hadn't allowed himself to become embittered in his old age, and was just as kind and jolly as he had been all his life. He was also just as lively, dividing his time between running around after his equally eccentric family and working as a paintball instructor. After spending his youth in the army, all he wanted was a peaceful life surrounded by his husband and children.

"He will explain everything when he wakes up then." Berwald's voice wavered ever so slightly. Even he couldn't hide his worry.

It wasn't like Peter to keep quiet about his job, not to his parents! He technically wasn't supposed to tell them anything- Andrei forbade it- but it was a rule that went mostly ignored. Peter told his parents about his missions, just as Franz did to Lars, and Tsvetan to Alin.

Peter particularly loved the thrill of recounting his various missions to the limited number of people he told, even if Berwald tended to worry for his safety. Tino did too- of course- but found himself too drawn in and amazed by the escapades to voice his concern. Usually.

And no matter how tired he was, Peter would always spare an hour or two to fill his parents in on what happened.

But today he'd barely said a word.

"Sweetie!" Tino gushed as his oldest child finally shambled into the room, hair messy and dinosaur pyjamas dishevelled. Peter grinned as his father led him to the dining table and hobbled over to the kettle, limping from an old leg wound received in action.

"Are you okay?" Berwald asked, abandoning his newspaper.

"Yeah," Peter smiled sleepily, "I got a bit burnt, but nothing major. It'll heal soon." Berwald looked at him expectantly and Peter rolled back his sleeves to reveal the series of burns. Berwald raised his eyebrows.

"Lighter," Peter explained, "on medical leave until Monday, thank fuck."

"Language! Fuck's sake!" Tino scolded, returning to the table with three mugs of coffee. "Get this down your throat," he told Peter, ruffling his hair. "My poor, brave boy…"

"Isi!" Peter rolled his eyes as Tino handed another mug to Berwald and kept the third for himself.

"Now," he began, "tell us everything." He wiggled in his seat excitedly.

"Well, we caught him," said Peter, warming his hands on his mug, "it was really cool! Car chases, guns, err… torture… the lot!"

Berwald squirmed. "Sounds dangerous…" he muttered, frowning.

"Oh, it's fine! I can handle it." Peter's smile fell. "Look, I'll tell you about all that later. There's something you need to know first."

"What is it?" asked Tino, "what's wrong?"

"You remember Alin, right? Alin Radacanu, Tsvetan's husband."

"Oh yes!" Tino exclaimed, "lovely man, really funny! Quite eccentric but I like that. And his little ones are so polite! Oh… he's okay, isn't he?"

"He… he was killed. Their children too… Andrei thinks it's this new 'Commonwealth' group that did it."

"No!" Tino covered his mouth with his hands, "not the three boys! They're so little… oh God poor Alin. And poor Tsvetan too! He must be devastated!"

"How's Andrei taking it?" Berwald asked quietly.

"Not well. He's distraught! It was Alin what raised him and all."

"I remember Alin mentioning it," Tino mused, "they didn't have parents or anything. Just each other."

"And where are Tsvetan and Andrei now?" asked Berwald.

"Just left the police station, last I heard, giving statements and all, and proving Tsvetan's innocence. Didn't take long."

"Oh, they didn't think he actually did it, right?" Tino sighed, "that's the last thing he needs, after what he went through."

"I think everything's sorted now though, Tsvetan's staying with Andrei indefinitely."

"If they ever want to come over," Tino began, slowly and anxiously, "you know, for a bit of company, that's fine. We'll cook them some dinner and let them stay the night too."

" _I'll_  cook dinner," Berwald offered quickly, and Peter suppressed a giggle. Tino gave a huff, but didn't comment.

"I'll pass the message along," Peter promised, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

His parents nodded.

"I hope they'll be okay though," Tino sighed.

…

There was silence in the car as Andrei drove them home. Tsvetan rested his head on the dashboard, seemingly asleep as his brother-in-law barely noticed the lights around them or the rain that pummelled the windscreen. All around them, people walked or drove home in the evening gloom after a long day at work, huddled under umbrellas or enjoying the warmth in their cars.

"There's something I wish to discuss with you," Tsvetan began slowly, lifting his head up, eyes bloodshot.

"Go ahead, we're home anyway," Andrei pulled into the communal car park in front of a block of flats, found a space and switched off the engine. He glanced over at Tsvetan patiently.

"I can't do this anymore," he began, "I'm… I'm quitting the agency. There's just so much danger…"

"You can't." Andrei said simply.

"I'm going to. You can't stop me. After the funerals, I'm going back to Bulgaria. I'm leaving all of this behind."

"And you're certain?"

"Yes. Please, Andrei, I don't want it to look like I'm abandoning you, but this job has cost me my family and I need to get away from you and the DSA and Germany. I just want to forget."

Andrei was silent for a moment. "Isolation is the last thing you need, in the long run. May I at least attempt to convince you otherwise?"

"It won't do much good, but fine."

"There are… so few people who know about this. About the DSA and what it does and Commonwealth."

"And?"

"That knowledge is priceless, as is your knowledge of hacking and technology. You're a genius, and you're vital in this whole mission. It would take ages to train another like you and fill them in, and God knows we're not letting Agent Seagull near a computer. Last time he had to write a report, every time he'd finish a line he'd knock the computer off the desk!"

"Just buy the fucker a typewriter," Tsvetan scoffed, trying not to laugh.

"I'll think about it; might be cheaper, actually," Andrei agreed before his smile fell; "look, Agent Yogurt, you are a brilliant man, and we need you. I need you."

"You really don't, I'll just be getting in the way with my misery."

"I don't think you quite get it, huh, Borisov? I need you to help me get my revenge on the bastards. I need you to fucking crush them with me."

Tsvetan thought for a moment before grinning and grabbing Andrei's hand. "No mercy," he growled, "we'll bring them to their knees."

"For Alin."

…

After giving a recount of Im Yong Soo's arrest to his parents, Peter wandered into the sitting room with a fresh cup of coffee and sat in an armchair, pulling one of the many blankets Berwald had knitted over him for warmth. His youngest two brothers, Björn and Eemeli, were sprawled out on the three-seater, Björn lying across the sofa, head on Eemeli's lap whilst the teen stroked his hair affectionately. No one else would ever have gotten away with using Eemeli Väinämöinen as a human pillow, but Björn was special to him. Perhaps it was the similarity in age, and the fact that the two were considerably younger than their other brothers, but Björn and Eemeli were inseparable.

Eemeli was a rough boy, loud and boisterous and prone to fights, but his behaviour completely changed around Björn; he became gentle and protective. The hostile, rebellious attitude suddenly disappeared, but then again, Björn Oxenstjärna had that effect on most people. He was a gentle soul, polite and rather innocent, and very friendly, guarded closely by his entire family. He had Berwald's good heart, and Tino's cheerfulness.

He also had severe haemophilia.

Ever since Björn was a baby, his blood had been unable to clot properly, and bleeds took far longer to heal. He suffered from often spontaneous internal bleeding that damaged his joints, and attended regular physiotherapy sessions.

He had inherited the condition from his mother, Berwald's ex-wife, who was a carrier but not affected herself. Lars- the only brother who shared the same mother- had not been affected either, having not inherited the gene that caused it.

All of Björn's brothers fretted and worried about him, not just Eemeli, although the chubby Finn held a special place in his brother's heart, and always would. His illness was a part of everyday life in the household, had an impact on everyone's lives and had even prompted some members of the family to take drastic measures: Hemming- the third brother- for example…

At this moment in time, Björn was suffering from an internal bleed in his elbow joint, a common place to get them, although internal bleeds were rare for Björn, thanks to his medication. He lay on the sofa, unable to move his arm and holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to the affected area. It was all routine for him now. He was curled up under a blanket, sleepily watching the telly as his brother played with his hair. Eemeli's worry was evident, from his deep frown to his trembling fingertips, buried in Björn's soft, blond hair.

Peter looked at the pair in concern, frowning as he sank further into the cushions.

"When did that happen?" he asked.

"Shortly before you got up," Björn replied.

"I thought your prophylaxis was supposed to sort that out."

Björn shrugged. "It prevents most bleeds, but doesn't mean I'm immune."

"I gave him an injection of factor pretty quickly though," Eemeli added, "so it shouldn't be too bad."

"A few days rest should do it," Björn grinned, "luckily I don't have a lecture until Wednesday, so I can just work on assignments until then."

"Might be hard typing with one hand though," Peter commented.

"I'll type for you!" Eemeli offered, and Björn rolled his eyes.

"That's sweet of you, little bro, but I'm perfectly capable of doing my own homework. Besides, you have Gymnasium and homework of your own to worry about."

"I can catch up," Eemeli mumbled.

"You bloody can't!"

"Is school and Uni going well for you both?" Peter asked.

"Not too bad," Björn shrugged. He went to a local university due to his poor health, and because he and Eemeli couldn't bear to be separated. He studied combined bachelors degrees in Protestant theology and philosophy in the hopes of becoming a vicar, mostly because he was a romantic at heart and loved the idea of helping people get married.

Eemeli planned to study psychology at university, and was fascinated by human behaviour and understanding how the mind worked, something that didn't come naturally to him. He was also fascinated by crime and the criminal mind, and hoped to become a crime scene investigator one day, and failing that, a mortician. His shelves were filled with crime novels and criminology books, which was a cause of slight worry for his family.

"We'll have to go back to the swimming pool sometime next week too," he told Björn, "gotta get some strength back in your muscles!"

"Of course!" Björn grinned, "I like swimming with you! It's funny when you dive bomb and get yelled at by the lifeguard."

Peter sighed audibly.

Björn's smile fell and he snuggled closer to Eemeli. "I remember," he began, suddenly small and vulnerable, "when I was really little, Yrjan would take me for long walks along the sea, back in Stockholm. And on holidays, they'd organise these hikes for me through woods and by lakes."

A gloomy silence fell over the three boys, only broken by Tino, who entered the room and nodded at Peter.

"Can I have a word, dearie?" he asked, and Peter stood up to follow him, frowning but saying nothing. Tino led his son into the hall, where he glanced around before beginning to speak.

"Look, your father and I have been talking and, err…" he stopped, faltering.

"Yes?"

"We, well… we really think it would be a good idea for you to quit your job."

Peter stared at his father in horror, jaw open. Eventually, he pulled himself out of his stupor and replied with a stunned 'what?'

Tino sighed. "We just want you to be safe, and you keep getting hurt because of this job. After what happened with Yrjan and Hemming, we don't want to see any more of our children in danger."

"But, this job is my life!" Peter exclaimed, "and it's because of Yrjan and Hemming that I'm doing this! I need to know what happened to them, we all do."

"I want to know what happened to them too- of course- but… not at your expense."

Peter was silent for a moment. "I can't," he finally sighed, "they need me there! Especially after what happened with Tsvetan."

"Tsvetan…" Tino looked down, "I know this sounds selfish, but what happened with Alin and Tsvetan has scared me. I cannot stand by and watch my husband and children die too! Please! This job, it has put Björn and Eemeli and Berwald in danger! And Lars too probably. Him more so because of Franz."

"Exactly! I need to find the people who did it!" Peter ran a hand through his hair, "they have to be brought to justice before they can kill any more people!" Tino didn't look convinced. "Look," Peter explained, quieter this time, "I will not allow what happened to the others to happen to you too. Commonwealth will be brought down, and the world will be a safer place. But you have to have faith in me, okay?"

Tino's lip quivered, but he nodded. "This goes against my better judgement, but fine. I'll say nothing more on the subject."

"Besides," Peter added with a wink, "if anyone tries to kill you, you can just shoot them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will find out what happened with Yrjan and Hemming eventually.
> 
> So some notes on haemophilia: it is a genetic condition that affects the clotting factors in the blood, and categorised as mild, moderate and severe, with severe being the most common. Due to the fact that it's caused by a mutation in the X chromosome, and is a recessive gene, it's mostly found in boys, who only have one X chromosome and thus won't have a dominant version of the gene. Although there's no cure, there are ways to treat it, usually injections of the missing factor either after a bleed, or regularly to prevent bleeding.


	7. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar- Hutt River
> 
> Jemima- Nyo Australia
> 
> William- Nyo Wy
> 
> Niran- Thailand

"You're late," Andrei barked as Peter tried to inch past him in the corridor. The man grinned back apologetically, as his boss just sighed.

"I must've switched my alarm off by accident or something," he explained, "it didn't go off."

"Very well. Now follow me."

Having no energy to scold him further, Andrei led Peter in the direction of his office, and Peter absent-mindedly looked around as he followed, peering in the various rooms. Most were empty, but he spied Tsvetan hunched over a computer in his office and the cleaner vacuuming in the mess room. But in the cloakroom, there was someone rather unexpected.

"Oscar?" he scoffed, coming to a halt.

Agent Victoria, or Oscar Cook, turned to face him with a scowl. Peter was somewhat in awe of the haughty, glamorous young man who always seemed perfectly dressed, not a hair or button out of place.

"Please, Agent Seagull," he began, sighing as if this was the thousandth time he'd had to repeat those words to Agent Seagull, which it probably was, "what have I told you about sticking to agent names?"

"Oh come on, Agent Vic, we're all friends here! Besides, you're my cousin! I think I'm allowed to call you by your name."

Peter and Oscar had only found out they were related by accident, when Peter had first joined and took it upon himself to read the files of every agent in the North and South Berlin Divisions. Further DNA tests confirmed that they were cousins, and Peter finally got in touch with at least some of his biological relatives.

Although he was perfectly happy as an Oxenstjärna, and generally didn't want to find his biological parents, Peter was somewhat curious about the family that had given him up for adoption.

Oscar had an older sister and younger brother: Jemima and William. William turned out to be one of Björn and Eemeli's friends from school, and Jemima was a cheerful, friendly young woman who had raised her little brothers since she was a teenager.

None of his cousins, however, would tell him anything about his birth parents, or any possible siblings he had. They never visited Jemima, and all he'd found out in the years of knowing them was that his mother lived in Britain, and that Peter himself was actually English, not Swedish. Whenever he asked about his mother, his cousins would clam up and avoid the subject. It was all rather irritating.

"Regardless, you never know who could be listening in," Oscar turned back to the locker he was rummaging through and now it was Peter's turn to frown.

"Hang on, your locker isn't here. It's in your own office, mate," he leaned against the door frame, "in fact, what are you even doing here?"

"I work here now," was all that Oscar cared to say.

"Agent Magyar's team have moved in with us," Andrei said. "We will be working more closely together over the next year."

"What?"

"I'll explain everything in my office," Andrei hissed, grabbing Peter's sleeve, "hurry up, will you?"

"Oh, okay. Right."

…

Stelios wondered if it was too early in the day for a drink.

Everything about this trip so far had been a disaster. He didn't want a bloody job! It was his holiday for God's sake! He already had a nice job at home, selling fruit in a market. Nice and simple, and kept him busy until something better came along. It also gave him a chance to talk to different people. He liked people.

But this was a whole new level of weird, and even dodgier than his internet history. A tall man with a ponytail full of dreadlocks had spent a good hour or so barking orders at him and his siblings. What needed being done. Where the boxes had to be driven to. That they must never open the boxes, lest they cared to face the consequences. By the end of it all, Stelios' head was swimming.

This was the last thing he needed, some dodgy job mixed up in things that best be left alone. It was bad enough living with his Dad again.

Most of the Adnan siblings had very little memory of Sadik, especially Temel. All they knew was a sense of loss, cheated out of actually getting to know their father. And Kuzey even had fond memories of the guy before they moved.

But Stelios? No, he remembered his parents' divorce well. The fights, the screaming, hiding in his room and cuddling his little siblings so that they at least felt safe. They'd even had a fight on his fifteenth birthday; he remembered crying whilst working through his entire birthday cake. He'll admit Sadik might have turned into some terrifying, ogre-like caricature festering in his mind for ten years now, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten what happened.

Still, his father hadn't shown an aggressive side since they'd arrived here. Sadik was subdued, quiet- timid even- and that itself unnerved him. Where was the loud, boisterous man he'd known as a child? Sadik Adnan simply didn't _do_ quiet, but here he was.

The way he looked at them was odd, as if they were wild creatures he was scared they would suddenly attack him. He was gentle around them too, though, like they would break with the slightest touch. It put Stelios on edge. He knew his father didn't mean any harm, and was probably trying to determine their level of hatred for him, and base his next plan of action on his findings, but it was rather irritating.

If Sadik had something to say, he should just sit them down and apologise… err, say what he had to say. Stelios meant say what he had to say.

And on top of that, he'd been moping around all weekend acting sorry for himself and apologising to his children over and over again for getting them into trouble. From what Stelios could make out, it wasn't actually his fault his terrifying, dodgy boss had forced him to allow his children to be used as cheap labour, but he was still going to blame Sadik for the time being. It was too ridiculous to not be his fault in some way.

Dragging boxes around an office block and courtyard gave him plenty of time to ponder all this, now that he'd managed to drown out Temel's whining and Cora and Kuzey's squabbling. Even now, they were still hissing at each other. The normally mild-tempered Cora was in a rather foul mood at having to work during her holidays, and she and Kuzey were the most extreme in their views towards their father. Kuzey adored him, and Cora despised him.

All four of the Karpusi-Adnan children were in one 'camp' on the subject, but Stelios was mostly uneasy around the guy. He still didn't trust Sadik, and generally disliked the man. Temel, on the other hand, just wanted to get to know his dad. But Cora was terrified of him, and didn't want Sadik anywhere near her. No one was too sure why, even Cora, though it seemed to simply be that her last memories of her dad were when she was five, and he was a huge, terrifying man who shouted at mummy, never mind that mummy was shouting back just as fiercely. Then there was Kuzey, who had spent a decade pining for his dad, and was perfectly happy to ignore Sadik's faults when defending him.

That drink was starting to look more appealing to Stelios.

He finished loading the truck and the four of them finally allowed themselves to relax. Their father was nowhere to be seen, and the quartet fell into a state of mild, internal panic. Sadik was out delivering another load, to a pharmacy company, apparently. This one was to follow, but none of them were too sure on the direction.

And for once, they were hit with a spell of good luck.

"You must be the new kids," a young man called, jogging across the courtyard to greet them. Stelios looked at him closely, taking in his spiky mess of hair and wide grin. The man pushed his glasses further up his nose as he reached them.

"I'm Niran and I work here too," he continued, "it's nice to meet you all! Sadik's told us so much about you!"

"Nice to meet you too," Kuzey gave a polite smile, "erm, we're a bit stuck, if I'm honest."

"Don't know where we're supposed to be going," Stelios explained, "no address, and even if there was one, we don't know our way around the city."

Niran thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, "well, where ya headed?"

"Some pharmacy place to deliver this crap," Kuzey jerked his thumb in the direction of the van. Niran's smile fell.

"Oh, you're making deliveries," he paused, "yeah, I know where to go. I guess I could show you…"

"Thanks," Stelios smiled, which was apparently enough for Niran's own grin to return. He bounded over to the van, climbing into the passenger seat whilst Stelios tried to get into the driver's seat, only to be pulled back by Kuzey.

"Oh no you don't," he growled, "get in the passenger seat too."

"Oh come on!" But Stelios obeyed, shuffling over so he was sitting next to Niran.

"Why can't he drive?" Niran asked.

"Trust me, it's something you don't want to see. Ever."

…

Peter looked down at the desk in Andrei's office, slouched in his seat and playing nervously with his hands. His boss just stared at him patiently, silently. Peter exhaled. He knew Andrei wanted him to say something, and he knew the man was right, but he was just so frustrated…

Andrei had just briefed him on the Commonwealth case: a mysterious, secret organisation causing trouble across Europe. Their tactics were to establish themselves in a city, threaten both gangs and businesses into loyalty, stir up trouble, destabilize the authorities and leave.

They had done this in several places now: Napoli, Ljubljana, Sofia, Marseilles, Bucharest, Bratislava, Athens. All in the EU. Most on the very edges of it. Now it seemed they were trying their luck in somewhere as large as Berlin, and had been for several years now.

The problem was: nobody knew anything about them. Every time they had a suspect or a witness, they would end up dead. Even the ones put under police protection. The member of the police force that had betrayed them usually turned up dead a few days later too. They had only heard snippets of how the organisation funded itself: drugs, weapons, and something more sinister that remained a mystery to them. There were fears Commonwealth had gotten into the government and police forces here; who else would be giving them the identities of DSA agents so they could kill off their family members as a threat? Maybe one of the agents themselves was a traitor…

Their job was to somehow get a foot in the door of Commonwealth: arrest members without them dying, possibly get a spy in there without the potential traitor knowing, and bring them down within a year.

How they would manage that, neither Peter nor Andrei had any idea.

Of course, this meant Peter couldn't start to investigate the Oxenstjärna cases just yet, and he tried to subdue his anger. It wasn't Andrei's fault. He was told what to investigate by the government. But Peter was desperate to know why two of his siblings had died so suddenly on the same night…

"So, where should we start?" he eventually asked.

"Well, to be completely honest, your guess is as good as mine."

The pair fell silent, thinking hard about where they could possibly begin with something as enormous as this. Then they exchanged grins as they came to the same conclusion.

"Feliks!"


	8. Hear no evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to remind you all:
> 
> Cora- Kazai (Cypriot micronation)
> 
> Temel- Aden (Turkish micronation)
> 
> Malika- Malaysia (gonna guess you know what Malaysia is)
> 
> …
> 
> Damn this took longer than expected… oops. But this is a pretty important chapter.

Cora boredly wandered the corridors of the office block, dragging a whining Temel behind her. Ever since her brothers had driven off, she'd had nothing to do until someone found the pair and gave them more work to do, and she wanted to make the most of the peace. Not that she wasn't up for a challenge, it was just she needed a break every now and again, especially with work this exhausting. And they'd not had a break since waking up. This way, she could get to know her new workplace, and where everything was.

If only Temel would shut up.

He was tired. He wanted to rest. He wanted to go home. He wanted Baba. Where was everyone?

Cora snapped out short answers, which would keep him quiet for a few minutes before the babble would bubble up again. She knew it wasn't his fault that their admittedly terrible holiday had been made worse by some 'scary mob lady' making them work for her, but she'd had enough of Temel. She didn't really get along with him anyway, same with Kuzey.

She wanted to go home, to Mama and Cyprus. She missed her home. It was beautiful and the weather was lovely and there was no Baba. Why couldn't Temel and Kuzey have been the only ones to go to Germany? And maybe stayed there. That way she could have carried on with her life and not have to face her least favourite person on the planet. She also wouldn't have been pulled out of school for a few months. Cora liked school. Although Baba had enrolled her in a German school, it was still a shock and she was away from her friends. And she didn't know the language. Well, she knew the basics, but the basics didn't cover the average high school education being fed to her by the teachers.

Still, she was picking it up fast and would probably be almost-fluent by the time she went home. And she'd probably make a few new friends too.

Temel seemed to be enjoying himself, until he had to start work. Now the child was miserable as can be and getting on his sister's nerves.

"But why do we have to walk so much?" he piped up.

"Because I want to explore," she told him, "exploring is fun!"

"It is," Temel agreed, "but we've been walking for hours and hours!"

"Try thirty minutes," his sister snapped, "then try being quiet."

"We're lost, aren't we?"

Cora's eye twitched. "No we're not."

"Then where are we?"

"Near the top floor, I think." Cora looked around before turning a corner and walking down yet another corridor. She spied an ajar door and shushed Temel, pointing to it and creeping forward. What caught her attention about this particular door was the plaque bearing the word 'boss', and she wondered if this was the perfect opportunity to find out more about her new line of work.

It was dodgy as hell, this whole situation. Even Baba said so, and it wasn't often that Cora agreed with Baba. Why all the secrecy? Why all the threats? And who the hell employed children?

The pair crept forward until they were just outside the door, standing deathly still.

"And you're sure you had no moral implications?" A woman's voice spoke, and Cora struggled to decipher the German, spoken in a harsh, foreign accent.

"Ma'am, he was wearing sandals with socks and there were spaghetti stains on his 'Frankie Goes to Hollywood' shirt. I had no qualms about killing him." Another female voice with a thick accent, this time the singsong voice seemed to belong to a girl.

"And the children?"

There was a pause. "I was given a job," the voice seemed to waver, "and I did that job. That's all that mattered."

"It was a sloppy job," the first voice commented, "one of the children could have escaped. I expect my assassins to at least take on children."

"He ran upstairs. He was right next to the front door and he ran upstairs instead. It was easy to corner him. And the other two could barely walk. The adult was taken by surprise too, so there was no struggle."

"You were lucky. You were almost outsmarted by a four year old, my death angel. If he'd run out the door then you'd never have been able to shoot him without giving yourself away."

"I cannot be outsmarted by a mere toddler," the voice didn't sound certain.

"It's good to know you had no objections to your task. Then again, you didn't even object to your partner being assigned to kill your own brother." There was a pause, as if the voice was checking for a reaction; "your loyalty is without question. It's just your ability that I doubt."

"Give me another assignment. I won't screw it up, I swear!"

"Of course," there was the sound of rustling paper, "our mole has passed on information regarding a new target: a Mr Lars Oxenstjärna-Edelstein, Agent Seagull's younger brother and Agent Edelweiss' husband. Kill him, and you may just succeed in bringing down the DSA."

"I'll do it!"

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" a voice growled behind the two teens. Cora and Temel yelped, wheeling round to find a stern young woman wrapped up in a dark uniform glaring down at them. Her uniform was dark grey down to her thick gloves and the balaclava clutched in one hand. Cora tried not to look at the dried blood caking her boots and trousers.

"Malika? Is that you? Who else is there?"

Cora looked up at Malika pleadingly, and the young woman gave the smallest of sighs.

"It's just me, ma'am."

"Well, I'm rather busy at the moment, if you have something to say to me or Angelique, please come back later."

"Yes, ma'am." Her face was blank as she motioned for the two kids to follow her, and Cora and Temel had no choice but to obey. However much trouble they were in now, it was nothing compared to the danger they'd be in if the boss found them.

Malika led them down the corridor towards a lift, pressing the down button and waiting silently, the Adnan children following suit. Cora played with her neckerchief nervously as she stared up at Malika, taking in her smooth black hair and dark, unreadable eyes. A large ornate flower was pinned in her hair and Cora couldn't help but stare at it. She thought Malika was a very interesting person indeed.

The lift doors finally opened and the trio got inside; only then did Malika speak to them directly.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"We were looking around and got a bit lost," Cora explained.

"I knew we were lost!" Temel cried.

"I see," Malika looked down at them, "are you sure you weren't sneaking around?"

"Positive." Cora give a small smile, which wasn't returned.

"You must be Sadik's children."

"That's us!" Cora frowned, "I'm Cora Karpusi and this is Temel Adnan."

"Malika Ratnasari."

"So do you work here too?"

"Yes."

Cora smiled. "Your hair is pretty."

Malika looked away. "Er, thank you, Cora. As… as is yours."

"Is my hair pretty too?" Temel asked.

"No," said Cora, sticking her tongue out.

"Your hair is nice too," Malika told him.

"So what do you do here?" Cora asked; "do you make deliveries too?"

"Err, no," Malika gave a rare smile, "I'm an assassin!"

Cora's smile fell. She remembered the conversation she'd just overheard and knew Malika wasn't lying. This company really killed people. And because of that, she decided to treat it as a joke and pretend she knew nothing.

"Haha, funny," she smiled nervously, "you're very funny!" Temel remained silent.

Malika didn't respond. The lift doors opened and she walked out, leading the pair to the mess room.

"Stay here until someone else gives you a job," she said.

"Of course."

Cora looked around the mess room. Most of the walls on one half of the bottom floor had been knocked down to create one large storage room. Most of the room was taken up with rows of crates and boxes, but one corner held a battered sofa and chipped table. A dart board was nailed to the wall and there was an arcade game in the corner. An 'out of order' sign was taped to the screen.

Temel bounded over to the sofa, plopping himself down and shaking slightly. When Cora turned back to the doorway, Malika was nowhere to be seen.

She joined her brother on the sofa, not saying a word to him and praying he'd remain silent too. There was no telling who could be listening in on them.

Of course, both wanted to talk about what they'd seen. About the blood on Malika's clothes. About the discussion between the boss and her apparent assassin. About what sort of organisation they'd just joined exactly. But that would all have to wait until they were safe at home.

Not for the first time, Cora found herself wishing she'd never left Cyprus.

"Hey, Temel," she began.

"Yes?"

Cora adjusted her hair-band, "do you think I'd look good with a flower pin?"

…

Peter couldn't help feeling out of place here, but then again, he was under a bridge.

His navy blue suit felt too clean, amongst rubbish and river water and already his shoes were soiled. He tried not to look for them as he waited for Feliks, half-hidden in the gloom and watching as an old man, wrapped in a battered coat and carrying his worldly possessions in a plastic bag, wandered past, paying him no attention. He scratched his scraggly beard as he picked up an empty can, sighing and throwing it in the river. Peter continued to watch him as he ambled past and disappeared from sight.

A few moments later, another man appeared, younger this time and wearing an oversized grey hoodie, battered jeans and a beanie: Feliks Łukasiewicz, or Agent Phoenix. His long hair was flecked with dirt and mud, and his sharp green eyes scanned the scene, spying Peter, but neither acknowledged the other's existence.

Feliks sat down at the water's edge, boredly swinging his legs over the side before speaking loudly.

"The phoenix has risen from the ashes."

That was Peter's cue to come forward, and he took a step towards Feliks, replying with: "and the seagull has stolen the pasty."

Agent Phoenix grinned as Peter sat down next to him, and he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Did you catch Im Yong Soo?"

"Yes, thank you. He'll be in jail for a long time."

Feliks nodded. "So," he began, "to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"We need information, Agent Phoenix," Peter explained.

"Well you've come to the right place."

Feliks was aligned with both divisions of the Berlin DSA, but not employed directly by the government. The government didn't even know he existed, which was perfect for when the DSA needed someone with a looser interpretation of the law and a close connection to some of the lowest members of society.

He was a distant cousin of Tsvetan's, and his job was to go undercover and create a network of informers and contacts by mixing with the most dangerous of gangs. It was lucky his cousin had given him the job, because no one would normally have employed the shy, socially anxious Feliks as a spy, but he turned out to be pretty good at his job. He was the last person a gang member or criminal would suspect of being in contact with government agencies. He knew all about the sordid, dangerous underside of the city and if anyone could give the DSA any clues about Commonwealth, it was Feliks.

For the right price.

What? It was a dangerous job.

Peter pulled out a thick envelope and discretely passed it to Feliks, who stuffed it in his jacket and nodded.

"Alright, who are your lot trying to do in this time?"

"Not 'who'," Peter replied, "'what'."

"Alright," Feliks rolled his eyes, " _what_ are your lot trying to do in this time?"

"An organisation of unparalleled destruction and power, it appears. They go right to the top and back again, apparently, and are involved in everything from the drugs trade to gun-running. Maybe even worse."

"Sounds serious," Feliks rubbed his chin, "they, like, got a name?"

"Commonwealth."

"Sorry, haven't heard of them."

"What?" Peter exclaimed, "oh come on!"

"Keep your voice down, Agent Seagull," Feliks snapped, "you'll blow our cover! Honestly, kids these days…"

"You seriously don't know anything about them?"

Feliks adjusted his beanie. "That's what I just said, didn't I?"

"You've been spending months with homeless people and you don't know a thing? Have any of the gangs said anything?"

"Nothing about Commonwealth, but I'm still one of the lowest members in most of them, so I don't know a lot."

"Well, has anything odd happened lately?" Peter asked, "Commonwealth get involved with gangs, even if they're just a group of bored teenagers mugging people and smashing up bus stops. They'd definitely try and buy out the proper criminal ones at least. You need to be careful."

"Oh strange things have happened alright." Feliks' smile was gone; "some mobsters have been in contact with lawyers, the ones dealing with refugee cases, you know, fighting deportations and the like. I have no idea what it's all about, but it stinks. What the hell to criminals want with refugees?"

"Cheap workers maybe?" suggested Peter, "or human trafficking?"

"That would be my guess," Feliks nodded.

"Do you know which lawyers?"

"Mr Wang, I think. That's the only name I've heard." Feliks hugged his legs, resting his chin on his knees. "That's not even the worst of it."

"What's wrong?"

Feliks' lip quivered. "People are going missing."

"Refugees?"

"What? No. Well, maybe but I don't know. I mean homeless people!"

"How do you know they're going missing? Maybe they've found someplace to live or moved on. There are charities to help them, right?"

"They're definitely going missing," Feliks growled, "just going off and never coming back. Sometimes whole buildings or tunnels would just be cleared out of whoever's sheltering in there and the people are never seen again."

"Haven't the police done anything?"

Feliks gave him a withering look. "These are homeless people, remember? What do the police care?"

"Well they will now;" Peter made a mental note to speak to Officer Hassan on the subject.

"Thank you," Feliks closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger, "it would mean a lot to me. You see… my friend's cousin… he's gone."

"What happened?"

"Well, a while back I befriended a bloke called Toris. He has nothing, except his little cousin Raivis. The two have been sleeping under benches and bus stops for months now. But last week Toris went to buy some coffee for them- to warm them up- and when he came back, Raivis was gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Peter sighed, "we'll find him, okay?"

"Please. Toris doesn't deserve this too, and Raivis is only a kid." Feliks looked down, so nervous and fragile, even.

"Well this is a side of you I haven't seen before," commented Peter.

"I have many sides," Feliks replied, "and chances are you'll never get the opportunity to see them all."

"Of course. So do you think these incidents are related to Commonwealth?"

"Possibly. I'll ask around, okay?" He stood up and began walking away. "Until next time," he called, "Agent Seagull."

"I'll keep in touch, Agent Phoenix."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I should point out that on Kazai's website, it's stated that one of the countries it supports is Malaysia, thus Cora will be rather fond of Malika in this. The site also states it supports the Republic of Cyprus, hence her dislike of Sadik, Kuzey and Temel.


	9. Induction

"You're late," Andrei barked as Luca poked his head in the door of his office, not looking up from the phone in front of him, whose receiver he was holding to his ear.

"So fire me," Luca replied with a small smile.

"We can all wish." Andrei shook his head, gesturing at him to sit down before continuing his conversation with Agent Seagull.

"What? How can I be late!?"

"I wasn't talking to you. Look, what do you mean 'he knows nothing'?" he hissed.

"He hasn't heard of Commonwealth," Peter growled back, "though there's some other dodgy stuff going on that might be related. I don't know yet." It was hard to hear Peter over the traffic as the other waited at a bus stop.

Andrei paused for a moment. "I'm listening."

"Homeless people are going missing and it's possible refugees are being targeted for human trafficking."

"I'm listening hard. You think they're kidnapping people? For what reason?"

"It's possible, and I don't know. Oh, you might want to look into a guy called 'Mr Wang'. He's a lawyer working on refugee cases. Apparently he's been in contact with a few criminal gangs."

"I'll get Agent Yogurt to find out what he can. Then get someone to snoop around."

"Cheers."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go to an internet café. Do some research on those other cities you mentioned. Try to find some articles on the you-know-what-organisation"

"We have internet here."

"Yeah but HQ doesn't quite have the same ambiance. Plus I know this place that does nice snacks."

"Fine. Don't want you breaking my laptops anyway."

"Hey it was one time!"

"Three. It was three times." Andrei glanced over at Luca, who was still waiting patiently in his seat. "Look, I have to brief the new guy now. If you find anything interesting, give me a bell."

"Will do!"

Peter hung up and Andrei turned his attention to Agent Fondue.

"So what was all that about?"

"Oh just spy stuff," Andrei waved a hand, "it won't make sense until you're caught up."

"Well I'm guessing it's Commonwealth related," Luca smiled, "you mentioned kidnappings."

"There's a possible link; we still don't know enough. So you're already briefed on the Commonwealth case?"

"I've been slowly finding out as much as I can since they murdered my brother." Luca's face hardened for a split second, then it was back to his usual polite, mildly-interested tiny smile.

"And what have you found out?"

"Nothing you don't know, if that's what you're asking," Luca sighed, "being an armchair detective hardly gives you the resources needed for serious espionage."

"So you joined our division to be in a position to enact your revenge?" Andrei sighed, "I'm not sure if that makes you a loose cannon or not."

"I want to bring down Commonwealth as much as you do," Luca stared at him evenly, "don't doubt my loyalty."

"But I will. Your agenda is separate from the rest of the DSA."

"Hardly," Luca sniffed, "I know my sister is of the same mind as me, and I'm sure you and Agent Yogurt want revenge for Friday's murders. Am I right?"

"…That you are."

"Not to mention Agent Monte Carlo, oh, and I know about the Oxenstjärna incidents, which is why Agent Seagull joined, is it not? I must say we are an emotionally charged bunch." He sighed. "I just want to help."

"I see. And how closely do you work with the German government?"

"Not closely at all," Luca frowned, confused, "I was interviewed by Mr Beilschmidt after finishing my training, and he sent me your files but that's about it." There was a pause as he looked at Andrei closely. "I'm not here to spy on you, if that's what you're so worried about."

"Well I'm afraid I can't take your word for it just yet. I hope you understand that a suspicious mind comes with the profession."

"Indeed."

Andrei looked at Luca for a long moment.

"So you changed your hair then?" he stated. Last time he saw Luca, his hair has been combed back messily, now it was down and covering one eye. He wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not.

"Err, yes." Luca smiled nervously, "I'm trying something new."

"The something new being killing a hairy guinea pig and wearing it on your face?"

Luca sniffed. "Well if it annoys you so much, I'll keep it."

"Hey it's your choice. And not really my business anyways."

"Exactly," Luca smiled, "which is why I have restrained from commenting on your suit."

Andrei exhaled sharply, refusing to reply.

"So," Luca looked around excitedly, "what exactly do you want me to do? Stake out a building? Tail someone? Research?"

"For now all I require from you is sweeping up and making the tea and coffee," Andrei waved a hand, "you can work your way up from there."

Luca huffed, "I am a qualified forensic scientist, you know? I received a master's degree from the University of Amsterdam. I also completed your agency's training with flying colours and am a master of disguise, if I dare say so myself."

"Master of disguise?" Andrei raised an eyebrow, smirking, "fine, since you're so qualified, you can answer my phone calls too."

"Brilliant," Luca groaned, "my sister will hear about this, you know."

"I'm trembling in my shoes," Andrei sighed, "well, I guess since you're already briefed on Commonwealth, there's nothing left to do but give you a grand tour."

"That would be nice," Luca was still scowling, and continued to do so as Andrei stood up and led him out of the room.

The tour was awkward, to say the least, Andrei's voice monotonous as he pointed out the different rooms. Luca just politely followed his pointing, calm green eyes exploring the interior of his new workplace. He didn't speak, and Andrei didn't say anything not related to the HQ.

When they got to the mess room, they found Agents Magyar and Monte Carlo sprawled out on separate sofas, Magyar steadily working through a pile of paperwork whilst Monte Carlo tapped at her laptop.

"Morning," Andrei greeted, earning a pair of grunts in response. "So, this is where you go to take a break," he told Luca.

"Excellent," Luca smiled before turning to Agent Monte Carlo, "erm, Monique?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know where my sister is?"

"Out interviewing Mr Wang. Seagull phoned her and asked her to."

"Oh, I hope she'll be okay," he paused, "Mr Wang being?"

"A lawyer," Andrei filled in, "may have contacts with Commonwealth. We're not sure."

"I see."

"So, I guess this is it," Andrei coughed awkwardly, "do you have any questions?"

"Um, yes, what would you say is the hardest part of working for Berlin's South DSA?" he asked, as if it were a job interview and not an induction.

"Telling your parents you're gay," Agent Magyar joked.

"Well Daniél's not wrong," Andrei sighed, giving Agent Magyar a withering look.

"Well my siblings already know…"

"It was a joke, but in that case, the serious answer is the constant fear of being tortured to death. Please try to avoid that fate," Andrei give Luca a pat on the shoulder, "it'd save me a lot of paperwork."

"Your concern is highly flattering," Luca replied flatly.

"Thank you. Now, guess it's time to get started. Two sugars and no milk please." He smiled and walked out, ignoring Luca's scowl.

…

"We'll find him, I promise," Feliks glanced over at his friend, who was wrapped up in a tattered sleeping bag. Toris just sighed.

"He's been gone for so long. I don't know what to do. I just don't."

The pair lay huddled together under the street lights, sheltering under the bench of a bus stop. The street was deserted, save for the occasional car driving past, owner not seeing them. A rucksack provided them with a pillow and Feliks himself was using his coat as a blanket; he always insisted Toris took the sleeping bag. The night air had a chilly bite to it, freezing them down to the bone.

"I talked to someone today who can help us," Feliks knew he shouldn't be saying this- he'd be in big trouble with the DSA if they knew- but Toris needed something to comfort him.

"Who?" Toris looked at him suspiciously.

"An old friend. Top secret and I can't say who."

Toris glared at him.

"I can't! But he's pretty important, and knows a lot of important people. He'll find Raivis. I promise."

"Don't go throwing promises around like they're confetti," Toris maintained his glare, hands trembling; "I have to think about this realistically."

"Except you're thinking pessimistically. You are allowed to hope though," Feliks stared back- face unreadable- until Toris looked away. "I have a plan and we'll get him back, okay? Trust me."

"I trust you, but you're not a miracle worker, Feliks. I just can't see a way of finding Raivis again."

Feliks nodded.

"I wish you weren't so secretive though."

Feliks' stomach sank. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You're always sneaking off on your own and not telling me where you're going," once Toris started, he couldn't stop his words, "I know it's your business but I'm worried. What with Raivis and these other disappearances. I don't want to lose you, and I'm scared of being left alone, I have to admit."

He fell silent and Feliks didn't reply immediately. The only thing to break the silence was the faint pitter-patter as it started to rain. Toris shivered.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you, but," Feliks wrapped his coat tighter around him, "it's all top secret."

"What are you, a spy?"

"Maybe," he grinned.

"For God's sake be serious," Toris rolled his eyes.

"Where's the fun in that?" Feliks' smile fell, "look, I'm just trying to help. My friend will find Raivis then everything will go back to the way it was." Toris didn't reply. "I promise, we'll all be back together again soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why didn't Luca go to a university in Luxembourg? Because there's only one Uni and they don't do forensic science degrees. I know. I checked.


	10. Re-enactment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for murder mentions, though no one else actually gets killed. In this chapter at least.
> 
> I was listening to the song 'let me cry' by Marina Popova and made myself sad whilst writing this. I'm not even a fan of her music but that song's really nice…

"I couldn't find out much," Agent België was saying, standing up and scanning the faces before her, "he paints himself as an upstanding member of the community, helping people and the like. He's pretty well-liked, for a lawyer."

It was Thursday now, three days after Agent Phoenix first mentioned Mr Wang, and the Berlin DSA was gathered in the conference room to report on what they'd found about any links to Commonwealth.

The conference room was large with one wall of windows allowing light to spill in, as well as giving a decent view of the street below. A huge table took up most of the room, and seated around it were all nine spies: Agent Patch and his division, plus Magyar, België, Monte Carlo and Victoria. The two leaders were sat at opposite ends of the table, and Fondue had made sure to pick a seat right next to his sister, and far away from his boss. Agent Seagull had already recounted his conversation with Phoenix (absent as usual, being undercover and not an official agent) and was now staring out of the window whilst next to him, Edelweiss doodled in a notepad, back from medical leave.

"So did you speak to him?" Agent Magyar asked.

"Oh yes," Agent België beamed, "told his secretary I was from the press and wanted to talk to him about his work. Fed him some bullshit about an article I was writing about immigrants in Berlin."

"And what did he say?" asked Agent Patch.

"Nothing useful," België shrugged, "just some stuff about his work and how he gets through cases. I'll type a report about it tonight."

"I see, and you, Agent Yogurt?" Patch turned to his brother-in-law, who was staring glumly at the table. He jumped slightly, looking up and casting his bloodshot eyes around the room before speaking.

"His full name is Wang Yao. I looked into his family history. Single dad with three kids. All adults, working for him, it seems."

"Anything else?" asked Magyar.

"Yes actually. He used to be in criminal law, defending gangsters and all that. And now it seems he's done a 180 and become an angel, fighting deportations and things."

"Dodgy as hell," Monte Carlo commented.

"Yeah. We should keep an eye on him."

"I'll get Phoenix on it. Maybe get him to talk to Mr Wang too," Patch thought for a moment, "does anyone have any other information to share?" When he got no reply, he sighed and turned to Monte Carlo.

"Your turn."

Monte Carlo nodded, taking a laptop out of her bag and setting it down on the table. "The pathologist sent me a re-enactment of the Radacanu-Borisov murders," she explained, "to help us find their killer. The DNA tests are still in the works but we have this for now."

She looked between Agents Yogurt and Patch.

"Do you two want to step outside for a few minutes?" she asked.

"No thanks," Agent Patch spoke firmly, but his hands were trembling.

Agent Yogurt said nothing, simply nodding and staring at the laptop.

"Okay," Monte Carlo opened up a programme showing 3D plans of the Radacanu-Borisov household and zoomed in on the sitting room. In it, grey, hairless models representing Alin and his children were watching television, Alin standing in front of the telly with a tray of snacks, Dragomir and Skender sat on the sofa and Eugen in his baby basket.

Another figure entered the room.

"It seems Mr Radacanu was set upon from behind," Monte Carlo continued as the animation played on, the inevitable horror unfurling. Agent Yogurt sat with his shoulders hunched, eyes watery.

The anonymous killer snuck up on Alin, slowly inching their way forward until they were right behind him- the children looking at them in confusion- before their hands darted to either side of Alin's head and twisted it, breaking his neck and severing his spinal cord. The model of Alin fell to the floor and the two oldest boys jumped up running out of the room, Skender grabbing his little brother by the hand.

"Of course, Alin's death would have spooked the children," Monte Carlo explained as the attacker pulled out a gun and shot Dragomir in the back, "and their murderer opened fire as they ran." The agents watched in silent horror as Dragomir's model fell on his stomach and Skender let go, running up the stairs. The attacker paused to dispatch of Eugen before following, stepping over Dragomir and walking slowly up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, they paused, listening and looking out for the child that nearly got away. Then their head snapped towards the cupboard door and they raised their gun once more, slowly and deliberately.

And Agent Yogurt jumped up, storming out of the room.

Everyone winced as the door slammed shut behind him, not noticing the animated, blank murderer fire into the cupboard and kill Skender.

"Tsvetan!" to everyone's surprise, it was Agent Fondue that got up to follow him, ignoring Patch's protests as the latter followed.

Andrei found Tsvetan slumped against the wall halfway down the corridor, sobbing into his knees and clutching his trousers so tightly his knuckles were completely white. And Luca was right next to him, rubbing his shoulder and whispering comforting words, though they didn't seem to be reaching Tsvetan.

"I thought I could do it," Tsvetan interrupted, "I thought I would be able to watch that… I… I needed to. To know what happened to them…"

"It was too soon," Luca agreed, "you only lost them last week. You should be at home mourning in peace, not pushing yourself."

"No, if I'm here then I have less time to think about…"

"It's not healthy," Luca pushed, "look, just don't try and bury all this emotion. You need someone to talk to? Well any of us would be happy to listen!"

"I miss them." Tsvetan stared straight ahead, "I wish it had been me who died, not them."

"That's understandable," Luca tried, "and you'll probably never stop missing them. You just have to take time to grieve. And you're not letting yourself-"

"I don't know how to. Emotions aren't really my strong point, apart from anger."

Luca pulled Tsvetan into a tighter hug. "Talk. Let it all out. Remember them." His words were a jumble of advice given to him when his brother died, barely coherent as he tried to remember what words comforted him and what words didn't help at all, and just hoping they would have some positive effect on Tsvetan.

"But what cruel force would take my family away and leave me alive? Why? They were innocent! It should have been me!"

"Life's like that sometimes, taking away innocent people in horrible ways," now Luca was starting to cry, silently. "You know I lost my brother a year ago. So trust me when I say you will learn to live with the pain, even if it won't go away. Just take it one day at a time, okay?"

"I don't want to think of the future right now," Tsvetan buried his face in Luca's shoulder.

"Then don't. Like I said, one day at a time."

"I can't believe I broke down in front of everyone like that…"

"You think we won't understand why?" Andrei cut in, taking a step forward, "we know you're going through unbelievable pain. I'm going through it too. We get that you're gonna be mourning for a damn long time. Don't be harsh on yourself."

"I can't help it," Tsvetan looked up, "I'm still certain I could have saved them."

"Maybe if you had psychic powers and could see into the future," Andrei rolled his eyes, "but you don't. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it. All that's left is to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"By stopping Commonwealth," Tsvetan finished, allowing Luca to help him up, "I'll do it! I'll dedicate my life to bringing them down, I can assure you."

…

Later that day, as the sun began to dip in the afternoon sky, Andrei sat in his office and finally allowed himself to wallow in his own grief. He'd sent Tsvetan home to rest and have some peace, and was starting to wish he could do the same, as he'd done for the entire week now.

The re-enactment opened wounds that had just started to close, and reminded him that his brother was never coming back. He sat there, lost in memories of holding his baby nephews, singing to them and babysitting them as they got older to give Alin and Tsvetan a break. He thought of how much Skender and Eugen looked like his brother so, and of Dragomir's silly smile. He loved his nephews so much, and had been looking forward to watching them grow up. He wouldn't even have dreamed that that would never happen.

And he thought of his brother, of how Alin had always been there for him, practically raising him since he was a child. Of how much the guy had sacrificed for him over the years, and how the final cost of not giving Andrei up to a care home was his life.

If Alin had heard his thoughts, he'd certainly have told his brother to not say such ridiculous things. But Alin was dead and being buried at the weekend, so Andrei was left alone to hate himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by Agent België barging into his office.

"Okay mister we have a problem," she growled.

"Anri? What's wrong?" He sat up, a trickle of fear running through him. Had something happened to Tsvetan? One of the other agents?

"I was hoping you'd tell me," she folded her arms, tapping a foot on the carpet. Anri was not intimidating by nature, but in her black tank-top, canvas trousers and heavy boots, she looked pretty fearsome to Andrei. He was just glad she wasn't carrying her pistols too.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You've been picking on my little brother!" Anri was right in front of his desk now, glaring at him with a poison he hadn't seen in anyone for a long time.

"Oh, that," he sighed, "I can't help it if I don't trust him."

"How can you not trust him?" scoffed Anri, "he's my brother! You trust me, right?"

"Honestly?" Andrei looked up, "I don't know who to trust anymore. I suspect there's a mole in the organisation, passing information about us to Commonwealth. I can't afford to trust anyone right now."

"And you think Luca or I might be this spy?" Anri shook her head, "in case you've forgotten, they killed our brother! A year before Luca joined too! How can you accuse him of spying?"

"I don't know. But there's something not right about him." But despite that, Andrei had to admit he was having second thoughts about Agent Fondue. Even if they didn't seem to get along, after seeing him comfort Tsvetan, he was having a hard time seeing the other as an evil traitor. Still, there was something about Luca that stirred at the pit of his stomach, and he was sure it was a bad omen.

"That's all you've got to go on?! There's something not right about him?"

"Yes. Maybe you're working together or something. Maybe it's someone else. I have no way of telling and it's terrifying." He looked Anri in the eye for a long moment; "we're supposed to be a team but someone here wants us all dead. How the fuck can we even begin to stop Commonwealth like this?"

Anri didn't reply at first. "I'll keep an ear out," she began, "and see if anyone acts suspicious. But don't go demonising my baby brother; he didn't do anything!"

"That you know of," Andrei added.

"Luca is not going to betray us!" she faltered, "at least I think he won't. It doesn't make any sense for him to."

"Well," Andrei picked a loose hair off his blazer, "I'm sure we'll find out by the end of the year."


	11. Strained relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jebat/Zhang- Singapore
> 
> Kartika- Indonesia

"Get to work," Malika barked at Kuzey, slamming the lorry door shut and walking to the back to unload the crates. Kuzey just nodded before climbing down from the passenger seat of said lorry to help her. He looked around at the deserted car park they were in, stretched out in front of a huge complex of pharmaceutical buildings. He'd been here several times this week already, but never been allowed inside. He wasn't sure what exactly went on inside, only that it was research into developing some new drug, supposedly for anaemia or cholesterol or something, he'd not really been paying attention. He had a sneaking suspicion that animal testing went on too, but it still didn't explain what the hell they were doing delivering crates here. Unless they contained live mice, he really didn't have a clue why the building needed them. 

But he wasn't being paid to ask questions, so no questions left his mouth.

A pair of security guards took the crates from them and began to carry them inside. There were only a couple, and before long, everything was unloaded and Malika turned to him.

"I'm just going to talk to someone for a bit. Wait outside."

Kuzey nodded and watched her go, boredly glancing around and scuffing his shoe against the ground.

Well this sucked.

He was supposed to take a few months off from job-searching to spend with his Baba on holiday in a different country, not all this bullshit. He wanted a job desperately, but not during the few months he'd allowed himself off to relax.

And to top things, Uncle Hera kept coming round, sticking his big nose in their business, making sure Sadik was being a good father to them and looking after them. Of course he was! He was the best! What did Hera know anyway? He didn't have kids, or anyone really.

Kuzey could see why.

But Stelios adored him, so he would keep showing up, fighting with Baba, and making everything unpleasant. Then Cora would blame Baba, Stelios would get a stomach ache and Kuzey would contemplate throwing Hera out the window. They lived on the 7th floor so it would be quite a fall.

Still, this was his first job in over a year. He didn't like the work much, but it paid reasonably well. Baba said it was crooked, and he was inclined to agree, especially where Cora and Temel were concerned. He doubted the boss would be willing to give him a reference for when he went back to Cyprus and started looking for another job, and he wouldn't want her to, whoever 'she' was. Or he could just apply for citizenship and continue working for 'Commonwealth'. Even the company's name sounded weird and pretentious.

Staying in Germany might not be such a bad idea though, and not just because he'd get to stay with Baba. A place like this would give him so many more opportunities to get his foot on the first wrung of the corporate ladder and to where the real, hard, cash was. He was a businessman at heart and wanted to make it big. And he would. Stelios could waste his life selling fruit from a stall, but Kuzey certainly wasn't going to. Not when the world was so big and so full of possibilities.

Kuzey could feel a plan beginning to form. He just had to save up enough, bit by bit. Start a business. Get a job in a bank even. And somehow quit Commonwealth without a horse's head ending up in his bed.

…

Malika opened a pack of gum as she walked down clean corridors, popping a piece in her mouth as she flashed her ID card to anyone who asked for it. All around her, researchers and chemists bustled past, talking excitedly and writing notes. She didn't pay them much attention, keeping an eye out for her dear little brother's office.

She didn't visit Jebat often, and only occasionally did because she knew it would annoy him. And she found it rather fun to annoy him.

Malika spied his office and entered without knocking, causing her brother to jump, and nearly drop the suitcase of Euros he was counting.

"Morning, dear Jebat," she greeted, sitting in the chair opposite him.

"It's still Zhang," Zhang snapped, shutting the suitcase when she tried to peer inside.

"Business deal?" she asked, making sure to chew her gum extra loudly.

"Yes." His eye twitched.

Malika leaned back, studying Zhang as she chewed. He had a plate of snacks on his desk, as usual: a platter of different foods to keep his diverse palette satisfied. A Vanda was pinned to his shirt, much like her own hairpin, and brown eyes stared at her boredly behind glasses. His black hair was neat and styled, except for one irritating lock at the back that insisted on sticking right up, and he was short and on the slim side.

"I swear if you don't stop chewing I'll stick that gum where only doctors can get it back."

"Are you threatening me?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well it certainly wasn't a compliment."

Malika stared at him with a stony expression as she spat her gum into a nearby wastepaper basket.

"Why are you here?" Zhang asked with a strained voice.

"Just wanted to check up on my baby brother," she shrugged.

"How lovely of you," he glared at her, "it's almost like a family reunion. If only Kartika was here with us too, then you could give me a migraine instead of a simple headache."

"Well she's coming over sometime soon, on a dig or something. We'll be sure to visit you together when that happens."

"I can hardly wait," Zhang rolled his eyes, "oh by the way, I just need two more for this month then you're good for a while."

"That's nice to know," Malika replied, somewhat truthfully, "stock's hard to come by."

"Really? I'd have assumed there was an abundance."

"Maybe 'come by' wasn't the best term, I meant 'subdue'."

Zhang nodded. "Of course. Understandable. Maybe you're simply losing your touch."

"Don't test me, Jebat."

"Zhang."

"Whatever." Malika's phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to find a text from Kuzey. Damn kid couldn't handle five minutes on his own without crying to an adult? Where was the boss finding these people?

"Problem?" Zhang regarded her with amusement.

"Not for long," Malika stood up, eyes still on her phone, "farewell for now, little bro."

Zhang continued to glare at the door long after Malika had gone. "I really need to send a memo to security, if she tries to visit again they'll shoot her or something."

…

"Well it seems we've had a stroke of luck," Andrei grinned at Peter, who was sat opposite him in his office, slumped in a swivel chair and staring at him glumly, accusingly.

"You're supposed to be at home," he simply said, "the funeral's tomorrow."

"Work must come first," Andrei replied regretfully. Tsvetan was at home, saying prayers by candlelight in preparation for tomorrow's service, and he wanted to be there too. Still, he'd just have to pray when he got home.

"So what's this lucky break then? And shouldn't the others be here for this too?"

"Unfortunately, the prospect of someone betraying us has left me no choice but to reduce the amount of common knowledge in here," he told Peter, "meaning what you know from now on won't be the same as what Agents Edelweiss or Yogurt or Fondue know, for example."

"I can't see this being beneficial in the long run," Peter commented, "and how do we investigate if we don't know the full picture?"

"It's the best we can do for now," Andrei sighed, "until our mole has been culled. And Magyar and myself will still be omniscient, and direct you based on our findings."

"If you say so…" he frowned, "so I'm the only person who will know about this 'luck' then?"

"Yes. Though I think it's only fair you inform your partner if you feel it necessary. And I will be telling Magyar too, of course. Unfortunately, I fear Tsvetan will have to be informed too…"

"How come?"

"It involves yet more of his family."

"In what way?"

"I'm just about to tell you." Andrei pulled out his flip phone, taping at a few buttons until the tiny screen was filled with a blurry image and he passed it to Peter. "A possible member of Commonwealth."

"No way!" Peter took the phone and found himself staring at a young man- younger than himself it seemed- in a dishevelled shirt and trousers next to a van, though unfortunately the shot didn't include its license plate. He saw the man had messy, dark hair and the beginnings of a beard, and was staring into space boredly, probably waiting for someone.

"Do you know who it is?" he asked breathlessly. This was good. This was a clue! A foot in Commonwealth's door. He felt like they were invincible, that they could do anything.

"I'm afraid we have no idea."

Oh. Never mind…

"Do we have a way of knowing?" he asked.

"Probably. I'm gonna get Yogurt to look into him on Monday."

"I see," Peter frowned, "who took the photo?"

"Phoenix."

"He did?"

"Yes. He followed the van leaving Mr Wang's office to a pharmaceutical building and got a snap of one of its drivers. However, we lost contact with him and when Magyar went to investigate, he found Phoenix's phone in some nearby bushes, broken beyond repair, but nothing else."

"Do you think they took him inside?"

"It's possible," Andrei shrugged, "but Magyar couldn't get in to find out. We're… we're not hopeful…"

"No," Peter looked down, "come on, we can't lose him too on top of everything else!"

"We almost lost you and Edelweiss last week. I thought you both were dead and was busying myself typing up an ad for a newspaper to find your replacements, but you turned up again. Phoenix might just do the same. His codename is Phoenix for a reason, you know?"

"What is Tsvetan gonna say though?"

"Nothing because I'm certainly not gonna tell him yet," Andrei exclaimed, "he's got enough on his mind right now!"

"But he'll be expecting Feliks at the funeral."

Andrei looked away; "I'll say he was busy or something. But I'm not telling him until we know what happened to Phoenix for sure."

"If you think it's for the best, then fine," Peter sighed, "can't see this working out well though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh come on! I can't write a story like this and not throw in a Godfather reference!
> 
> So yeah Singapore has two names: his Malay one (Jebat) that Indonesia and Malaysia use, and his Chinese one (Zhang) that he goes by nowadays, just fyi.
> 
> I wonder if anyone's guessed that 'other thing' Commonwealth are up to. Or who the mole is.


	12. Candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elise- Liechtenstein

"Isi, I don't think this is the appropriate time to clean your gun," Peter commented, glancing in his parents' bedroom to find Tino sat on the edge of the bed in a shirt, cream waistcoat and underpants. His clothes were dishevelled, his face unshaven and his eyes bloodshot. Tino sat polishing his rifle, the case open on the bed next to him.

"I know, I know," he sighed, setting the thing down with trembling hands, "it just helps me relax."

"Look, if you'd rather stay home, then I understand…"

"No, I have to go," Tino's bottom lip quivered, "they were our friends, and Tsvet and Andrei need our support." He stared into space for a moment. "You know, you'd think I'd be used to death by now, but it appears not…"

"Don't think it's something y'can get used to," Berwald commented, appearing in the doorway. Tino nodded and stood up to look for his trousers and socks.

"Are the little ones ready?" he asked.

Berwald nodded. "Jumpin' on the bed last time I saw. Told 'em to stop. They ignored me 'nd fell off."

"Are they okay?"

"Björn hit his head."

"On what?"

"Eemeli…"

Tino groaned, but decided his sons were probably fine. There was no distant screaming and crying to suggest they weren't.

Peter left his parents to it and wandered into the hall, discovering that Björn and Eemeli had since gone downstairs and deciding to join them. In the kitchen, he found Lars eating cereal over the sink to avoid spilling any on his suit.

"I thought you'd be going with Franz," he commented.

"He's picking his family up from the airport," Lars explained, "and there wasn't really room in car for me too, and Isi had a people-carrier so…"

"Plus it would involve sitting in a car with Elise for an extended period of time."

"Hey, meeting exes is always a tricky experience!"

"Especially ones you dated in Uni for a year before dumping because you've realised you're incredibly gay for their little brother."

"Pretty much, yeah. So I'd rather tail you guys today."

"Nice to know we have the honour of being graced with your presence."

"Shut up."

The brothers stood in silence for a few moments before Lars finished his cereal and left the bowl and spoon in the sink, slinking away with a whistle.

"Papa, you have some cleaning to do," he sang quietly, jokingly. Peter boredly followed him into the sitting room, where Björn and Eemeli were sprawled on the sofa, tugging at the stiff collars of their shirts.

"Has my waistcoat always been this tight?" Eemeli complained.

"Not before you got so fat," Björn replied, causing the older two brothers to burst out laughing.

"Well you're fired," Eemeli shot back with a grin.

"From what?"

"Your job changing light bulbs, you tall prick."

Both Björn and Eemeli collapsed into a fit of giggles, silenced only when a teary Tino entered and threw a glare in their direction.

"Today is not an appropriate day for laughter," he muttered. He turned to his fourth son and sighed; "Lars, did you just come here to eat our food and make a mess?"

"Well, I need a lift too…"

Tino rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Want me to help you, Isi?" called Peter, following after throwing a smug grin in Lars' direction.

"Oh no, I'm fine!" Tino replied, but when Peter walked into the kitchen, he found his Isi with his sleeves rolled up, washing up whilst angrily muttering something along the lines of having to do everything himself and never getting any help and having lazy sons.

"I just offered to give you a hand!" Peter exclaimed.

Tino jumped. "Oh hi son," he began, "is everything tidy?"

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes, "but the reception isn't being held here, you know?"

"Someone might want to come back. And I'll be asking Tsvetan and Andrei if they want to stay the night. So this place better be spotless for them!"

"It is! Except those three broken condoms I counted on sofa."

"Peter, what have I told you about calling your brothers that?"

"Do it because it's hilarious?" Peter sat at the kitchen table as Berwald entered.

"C'mon or we'll be late," he said, "oh, and remember to make the kids turn off their phones and give them to us before the service. We don't want a repeat of Mr Bonnefoy's funeral."

"What happened again?" asked Peter with a slight smile on his face.

"What do you mean 'what happened'?" cried Tino, "you were there! We caught Lars texting during the middle of the service."

"I thought he was snapchatting," Peter covered his mouth with a hand.

"Just shut up and get in the fucking car."

…

The grey skies were fitting, Peter thought as he climbed the steps of the detailed white, blue and gold Orthodox Church, and he wondered if it would rain soon. The procession from Tsvetan's house to the church had been long and sombre, and no one had said a word in the car as they followed the hearse through Berlin's streets, instead sitting in glum silence. Even Eemeli didn't say a word.

The car park in front of the church was filled with mourners, mostly the other spies and their families with a distinct lack of Alin and Tsvetan's relatives, save for Alin's little brother and Tsvetan's three cousins. Andrei was near the door, talking to the priest and Peter remembered him mentioning just how hard it was to find a priest to bury Alin and the children, most turning away the moment Tsvetan's relationship to them was explained.

Peter looked back across the car park and spied Franz with his parents and sister, all in matching, black outfits. Elise and her mother- Érzsebét- wore black mantillas, and Roderich wrapped his arm around his wife to comfort her. She never got along with Alin, but even Érzsebét had been horrified at the news of his and his children's murders.

Elsewhere, Luca and Anri looked immaculate, also dressed in black with matching sunglasses. Luca kept his head down, most likely thinking of what he'd witnessed at the crime scene. Although he'd never known Alin and the children personally, the memories of their bodies, and being the one to find Skender would certainly have had an emotional effect on him. Chances were the whole thing was reminding him of his brother too. He brushed a lock of hair out of his face with a gloved hand, standing close to his sister and following her lead.

The family reached the top of the steps, and Tsvetan began handing everyone a candle. _That_ certainly caught Peter's attention.

He didn't  _do_  fire.

Was everyone supposed to be getting a candle? He glanced at Berwald, already feeling himself start to panic. He wiped his sweaty hands on his blazer, but it did little good.

The rest of his family each took a candle, Eemeli far too pleased to receive one. Tino and Berwald glanced at Peter nervously but Andrei held a hand out, turning to the priest.

"There's no need to give him one," he began, "I already explained."

"Of course."

So Peter passed by candle-free, though he was wary of the others; everyone had one. They walked into the church and slowly made their way along the aisle, and Peter was met with a sea of candles, all glowing softly. At the front, before the alter were four coffins, open to show Alin and the children, eyes closed peacefully and clutching pictures of saints in their hands. The Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen family sat down together, taking up a row each. Berwald had made sure Peter was sat at the end, away from the fires, but he was still nervous. More than nervous. Terrified.

More people filed in and sat down, Tsvetan and Andrei coming in last with the priest and sitting in the front row, tears silently streaming down their faces as they glanced at their family, who looked so peaceful in the dim, soft light. Others were crying too, whilst yet more were on the brink. Peter caught sight of Luca wiping a tear away.

The service started, everyone carefully following the booklets helpfully provided by Tsvetan, which explained what exactly was going on, as the majority weren't entirely familiar with the Orthodox service. Peter glanced at his parents, both of whom seemed to be struggling to understand what was going on.

Peter tried not to look at the candles. After another wave of panic, he kept his head down, reading from his booklet intently.

But he could still feel their heat.

The flames seemed to be creeping towards them, making his skin crawl as he broke into a cold sweat. He needed to get out. There was too much fire in here. He tried to keep quiet though; now was not the time or place to panic.

He looked up, eyes fixing on the candle in Björn's hand. He didn't want fire near the boy. Or himself. Or any of his siblings.

He couldn't do it. He hated fire too much to spend hours in his presence. But he couldn't just leave!

But the candles were too close for comfort, and he was starting to panic big time.

Berwald glanced over at him, sighing before leaning over to whisper if he needed to go outside.

Peter gave a shaky nod before bursting into tears and running into the aisle. His vision was blurred and he barely managed to get to the door, only vaguely aware of his father's footsteps behind him.

Once outside, he collapsed on the steps, wheezing and trying to calm his deep, uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he felt Berwald sit down next to him, "I thought I could manage…"

But no, the memory of what he did that day- to himself and his brothers- was still fresh in his mind, and always would be.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mei- Taiwan
> 
> Mathias- Denmark
> 
> Birgit- Nyo Norway
> 
> Ulrike- Elleore
> 
> Søren- Christiania
> 
> Allyson- Nyo America
> 
> …
> 
> I hope everyone still likes this story. Warning for more death mentions, and burns. I probably could've split this into two chapters tbh.
> 
> Also some new pairings in this: namely seywan, dennor and a teeny bit of sunor.

Kuzey still felt jumpy.

The incident at the Pharmaceutical Building had shaken him, the memory of Malika dragging a young man out of the hedgerow and beating him senseless still plaguing his waking thoughts. He didn't know where that man was, not since he'd been thrown, unconscious, into the van.

He hadn't told his family. Not a word, not a peep. They knew something was bothering him, but he refused to talk about it.

He knew he couldn't tell anyone. If another member of Commonwealth found out, he could get labelled as a snitch and disposed of, and if he told his family, Baba would make them quit. And even if they got out of  _that_  alive, Kuzey didn't want to see his father go back to scrubbing semen out of hotel bed-sheets for minimum wage.

Kuzey knew that young man was probably dead, and it was all because he'd panicked and texted Malika about it. Maybe if he hadn't, then this wouldn't have happened.

Still, what was that man even doing, hiding and spying on him? Was it something dodgy? A rival company? Baba had told him Commonwealth wasn't entirely legal, and the idea of gang warfare crossed his mind. But organised crime like that, here? Didn't add up.

Malika just told him the man was an animal rights protestor, but that didn't make sense either. Who the hell just kicks the living daylights out of an animal rights protestor and dumps him in a refrigerated van?

Sadik was out on another delivery, and Kuzey was sat in a rather crowded mess room with his siblings after working hard all morning. Cora and Temel had been desperate to explore the building at first, but now they sat subdued and timid in the corner. Kuzey wondered if they'd seen something they shouldn't have too.

Next to him, Stelios was sat on the broken sofa, trying to avoid the springs sticking out whilst talking to a member of the organisation that Kuzey had only seen a handful of times.

Mr Mohammad Hassan was a quiet man they would occasionally see walking around the place. Not much was known about him, except that he didn't have a job and was close with the boss. Yet Stelios had struck up a friendship with him.

"Ugh, D'Andre gave us so much work to do this morning. He just didn't seem to stop talking when he was giving out orders," Stelios was complaining, whilst Mohammad made a minimal effort to look like he gave a toss.

"Then you went and pissed him off," Kuzey added.

"Did he now?" Mohammad gave a small smile.

"I was just trying to make a joke!" Stelios exclaimed, "after he'd finished talking I put up my hand and asked how much dick I would have to suck to get out of this."

"And you were actually surprised when he smacked you across the face with his clipboard."

"It was rude!"

"Well since I had Temel following me around all morning asking why his big brother sucks 'peepees', I have very little sympathy for you."

Mohammad shook his head; "if I were a policeman, I would definitely arrest you for public indecency."

"Well I hope you don't expect me to… come quietly," Stelios retorted with a giggle.

Mohammad said nothing, opting for getting up and leaving instead before he tasered him, which certainly would've given away his profession, something he was desperate to keep secret from these people.

In the hall, he passed Angelique, leaning against the wall and staring at the floor whilst another girl tried to talk to her. He recognised the girl as Mei, one of the Wang children, who were often seen running about on some job. He decided the two needed to be alone, and continued walking. It was none of his business anyway. That was the rule if you wanted to survive long in Commonwealth: keep your nose out of things that didn't concern you.

Liz had made more than enough people examples of what happened when that rule was broken.

…

"I'm just worried, that's all," Mei mumbled, determined to look somewhere- anywhere- that wasn't into Angelique's eyes. She didn't want to see her go, off on another dangerous mission where she might get killed. And each mission seemed to be getting riskier.

Mei wasn't stupid; she knew there was a chance Angelique was next in the firing line. Liz was tired of her mistakes, her unreliability.

Liz didn't see Angie the way Mei did. She just saw a useless excuse of an assassin, a weak link in her chain slowly coiling around Europe. But Mei loved Angelique's sunny temperament, her kind heart, how she just didn't belong here.

Angelique deserved better than this life. Deserved more than a job as a killer, in a dingy criminal organisation. And she deserved more than the affections of a murderer's daughter.

But she loved Mei in return. She wanted more for Mei, and they were determined to get out somehow. Away from Commonwealth and away from Liz.

Angelique always said they could go to the Seychelles, far away from everything. They could get by. It was beautiful, Angie told her, thus would suit Mei well. That was it. That was their future. A beautiful couple living together on a beautiful island, with no worries and no one to hurt them.

What could be better?

Mei supposed she'd miss her brothers, and knew Angie would miss her sister, but apart from that, what life did they have? Still, they'd never be able to go back. No one could know where they were, or Liz would hunt them down and send someone to kill them.

So far, only one person had ever escaped without a trace, and even then, it was only a matter of time before he was caught too.

It would be risky, they knew, and they had to make sure no one would discover their plan. They only had each other to lose, and were determined to guard that.

"I know you worry," Angelique eventually replied, "I do too. But it's just a simple job. I'll be back in time for dinner." She smoothed down her grey uniform and stuffed gloves and her balaclava into her trouser pockets before tying her hair into a pair of flat buns.

"I'll prepare something nice," Mei replied with a wink. Angelique laughed as she began to walk off, stashing a gun into a hold hanging from her thigh then wrapping a long skirt around her waist to hide her weapon. It could be pulled off with Velcro when she needed to attack.

Mei could only watch her go, wishing with all her heart that she'd see that face again.

…

Peter couldn't help being dragged back. He saw himself as a child, back before Björn and Eemeli were born, one evening in winter.

No, not again. He didn't want to relive it again.

He tried to call out to his younger self, warn him, tell him not to do it, but it was no use. He'd have to watch his childhood folly all over again.

Papa had brought home sparklers, since he was looking after them whilst his then-wife, Peter's ex step-mother, was at work. They'd been living in Sweden at the time, and it had been dark and chilly as the four children stood in the garden, wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves, and watched as their father showed them how to use the sparklers before handing some out to his oldest three.

Peter could see them now, their edges fuzzy but still horrifyingly clear. He, Yrjan and Hemming stood huddled together, gazing in delight at their new playthings through their visible, cloudy breaths. He wanted to snatch the things away and snap them in half.

Lars had been two at the time, and thus wasn't allowed to have a go, which upset him greatly. He pulled at the others' coats and tried to snatch Hemming's sparkler before Berwald picked him up and set him down on the garden bench.

Lars, it was safe to say, was somewhat of a brat, and he'd whined and sniffled as he sat there and miserably watched Yrjan, Hemming and Peter waving sparklers and spelling their names in the air.

He wanted to play with the lights too.

Papa Berwald had lit his own sparkler, holding it close to the toddler so he could have a good view of it too, but that made Lars even more upset. Everyone had a pretty light but him!

He'd thrown a tantrum, hurling his mittens at his father and sticking out his tongue, so Berwald sighed, put his sparkler in a bucket of water, and focused on keeping an eye on the other three.

Several sparklers later, and he'd forgotten he'd left the dinner in the oven, only remembering it when he smelt a burning smell, different from the fireworks they were playing with. He made the children dump their sparklers in the water as he rushed inside to salvage whatever was left of their burnt food.

And Peter wanted to drag him back out. Maybe if he'd come back outside a bit earlier…

Lars was still whining that he wanted a sparkler, and it was getting on everyone's nerves. Yrjan had snapped at him to be quiet, but it did little to help.

So Peter, as the oldest, stepped in to solve the problem. And at nine years old, he thought he could. After all, nine was a grown up age and Peter knew everything.

Like how to light a match, for instance.

He'd taken a sparkler out of the box and handed it to Lars, despite Hemming's protests. He'd just been five at the time but already had more common sense than the rest put together.

Peter wished he'd listened to his brother. And he wished he could dash into his vision and knock that thing from his other brother's hand, to snatch away the box of matches his younger self was holding.

But he couldn't move, and had to watch what was happening in horror.

Sure, Peter may have thought he knew everything back then, but it certainly never occurred to him to put Lars' mittens back on first. Or, you know, that giving dangerous objects to two year olds will end in disaster.

So Peter struck a match and lit the sparkler, and the adult watching this wanted to die. There was the panic again, gripping at him with icy hands and dragging him down. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to change the past.

It had taken mere seconds for Lars' expression of wonder to turn to horror as the metal rod burned his hands. He dropped it with a whine.

Right onto his thigh.

It burnt his trousers and scalded his legs, and Lars screamed, a noise that chilled Peter to the very day, forever burnt into his memory. Yrjan leapt forward to brush it away whilst Hemming ran to find their father, who at that moment appeared at the door, and that was the first time the four children had seen true terror on his face.

Embers from the sparkler singed Yrjan and Peter's wrists as they tried to swat the thing away, Lars kicking his legs not helping matters, but eventually the firework was thrown on the floor. Lars writhed and howled, tears streaming from his face as pain shot through his leg, his first true taste of pain and far too young for such an experience. Berwald had removed his still-smouldering trousers, carrying the child into the kitchen to pour lukewarm water on the burns. He ordered Yrjan to fetch a blanket whilst Hemming clung to his trouser leg and wailed for his little brother. Peter just stood in the doorway, horrified with himself with no choice but to watch Lars' suffering.

If Berwald was angry with him, he didn't show it as he quietly asked his son to come over. He lifted Peter onto the counter so he could run his hands under the tap, doing the same for Yrjan after they returned with a blanket. He was calm throughout the whole thing, silently wrapping the blanket around Lars' shoulder to keep him warm and murmuring reassurances to him. Lars still sniffled and whined, touching his burns and bursting into fresh tears.

Berwald decided it was finally safe to move him and packed everyone into the car to take Lars to the hospital, just in case.

Peter's memories after that had faded. He remembered very little of the hospital visit, other than the strong smell the place carried. But Lars had been fine and that was all that mattered. He'd be scarred though, but at least he would live.

The only other memory that stuck out for him was hit step-mother hitting him when she'd come home and found out what had happened. Peter had never been smacked before, because it was something Berwald forbade. It was so unexpected and terrifying that he'd never been comfortable around her since. But he guessed it was all he deserved, for doing something to harm her precious birth son. For putting his little brother in danger.

That was the one thing that had truly angered Berwald that night. It was his most important rule: no hitting and no smacking. After the children had gone to bed, Peter had heard them shouting downstairs.

He blamed himself for their marriage falling apart, only a few years later and shortly after Björn's birth. It was only when he was older that Berwald explained it had been a combination of Lars' mother's refusal to care for a haemophilic child, and Berwald finally accepting that he could no longer live a lie.

But nothing could ever take the blame away from Peter where his brother was concerned. He'd hurt Lars, caused him agony and gave him scars that would never fade.

He couldn't be near fire. Flames petrified Peter in a way even his most dangerous missions couldn't. Fire hurt his family and himself and he couldn't be near it.

His mind finally crashed back to reality, and Peter remembered where he was: sitting on the front steps of the church, looking out over the car park and Berwald was sat next to him. The drizzle had cleared up and the sun was beginning to peek out.

This wasn't the time though. They were burying Tsvetan's family, and Peter needed to be there for his friends, not outside wrapped up in his own problems. But they'd understand, right?

"It wasn't your fault," his father told him quietly. Peter stared ahead, miserable and unwilling to hear reason.

"It was though," he replied. "Who the hell gives a toddler a firework to play with?"

"A small child who was unsupervised and didn't know any better." Berwald wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder.

"I was an idiot…"

"You're not. If anyone's to blame, it's me. And it definitely was my fault. Shouldn'ta left ye on yer own."

"Won't stop making me feel bad about it," Peter shrugged. "Won't make me not scared of fire."

"Maybe y'should go back to counselling?"

"Don't think it would help."

Berwald thought for a long moment. "Y'don't want to be h'lped, do you? You don't think you deserve it. S'why it didn't work last time."

"Why should I forgive myself and get help and move on? Lars still has the burns on his leg."

"I h'nestly don't think he gives a damn. He can't even remember it and h's been getting burns ever since. Poor sod got heatstroke in Benidorm the day we got there, remember? Lars forgave you a long time ago; why can't you forgive yourself?"

"I don't know. Have you forgiven yourself for sleeping with your brother's fiancée and having a kid with her?"

That had been a low blow and Peter knew it. The circumstances surrounding Yrjan's birth were never spoken about within the family, and Peter had only learnt about it as an adult, from Yrjan themselves. He'd been too young to remember it at the time.

Berwald was still not on speaking terms with his brother, though Mathias had eventually forgiven Birgit and still went ahead with their marriage, having two children of their own: Ulrike and Søren, cousins that Peter had only met a handful of times at family reunions.

Berwald didn't look at him, and Peter nearly drowned in the shame of his words. Why must he keep speaking without thinking?

"I'm sorry, Papa, I didn't mean…"

"Just be thankful your mistake was an accident, and that your brother can forgive you." Berwald's face was dark, lined and creased into a glare. Peter wondered if he would get angry, would shout at him, but he didn't. He never could bring himself to shout at his children, unless he thought they were in danger.

He was hurt though, and badly too; Peter could tell that much. It was the one thing he truly regretted in his life, betraying his brother. Berwald was ashamed of what he'd done and tried to bury that episode deep in his past.

He loved Yrjan though, and had always told the kid he'd never trade them for anything in the whole world.

"Look, we should go back inside," Berwald began, "unless you don't think you can."

"I want to say goodbye to them," Peter replied, determined. "I think I'm calm now."

Berwald nodded, taking Peter's hand and helping him up, leading his son inside and squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

Peter knew he could manage this time round, because his father would protect him. Fire couldn't hurt him today, as long as Papa Berwald was around.

They re-entered the church to find everyone was standing to say their goodbyes and they got in line to do the same. Nearer the front of the queue, he heard Agent Magyar, or Daniél Bajusz, whisper as he stroked Alin's hair.

"Come on, you bastard," he murmured, "don't do this to me. I know we never liked each other, but I never wanted you dead."

Peter turned away to look at Skender, their brunet hair framing their face, pinched into a frown with closed eyes and a wreath around his forehead, a prayer printed on it in unfamiliar letters. There was a bowl next to his head, identical to ones in the other coffins: koliva, Andrei had called it, explaining that it was boiled wheat mixed with honey, and in each bowl was a candle.

Peter looked away. It wasn't just the candle; he didn't want to look at the bodies of innocent children, lives snatched away long before their time. He'd visited that family, played with the boys and been an uncle to them. It was wrong that he had to say goodbye to them already. He couldn't bring himself to look at Dragomir or Eugen in their tiny coffins, and instead said a simple, but earnest, goodbye to Alin before stepping back to give others a chance.

…

Outside the church, Lars stood by the car and waited for the rest of his family to join him; he was uneasy, mind flooded with memories of Yrjan and Hemming's funeral. It had been a joint service too, back in Sweden where they'd been living before they were murdered. Tino had been devastated, inconsolable whilst Berwald became a zombie, dead inside with grief he didn't know how to express. Tino was a war veteran, and had been a widower- after Eemeli's mother died in childbirth- when Berwald had first met him, and had seen more than his fair share of death, but losing two of his children at once had been a blow like nothing he'd experienced before.

It had been a crushing shock to them all. They'd died within hours of each other, but at separate locations and of different means. The only thing connecting them was the date and their relation, but the whole thing was dodgy as hell.

Yrjan's death had shocked the world. They had been a famous rock star, combining punk and metal, and writing songs critical of the Swedish government and the EU. They had also given many human rights talks, and got involved in protests for whatever causes took their fancy. Yrjan was a natural-born troublemaker, but no one had ever suspected that one day the world would wake up to the news that they'd been shot in the head in their own home. There had been conspiracy theories about it- of course- ones that Peter and Lars had made sure never reached their family's ears. It would have been too much for them.

Hemming's death made far less sensational news, though it was just as suspicious. He was a biologist, trying to find a cure for Björn's haemophilia at whatever cost. Originally he'd wanted to go into physics, to try and discover a green, renewable, clean source of energy for the world, but watching his little brother suffer had changed his mind. Energy could be someone else's dream, as long as he could help Björn.

But nothing had come from his ambitions, because only hours after his sibling had been discovered by the police, his body was found in his lab after poison had wreaked havoc on his cells. An almond cake lay on the floor, which was confirmed to be the culprit when it was discovered to be laced with cyanide.

Not only that, but his lab assistant, Miss Allyson Jones, had gone missing. No one was sure if she had been the murderer or another victim, and like Yrjan's death, the case remained unsolved to the very day.

But Peter was determined to do something about that.

Lars remembered the funeral well. Peter's horror and fury. Björn sobbing as he filled their coffins with flowers. Flowers made everything better, Yrjan used to say. They would make things better now, right?

Lars would've found his brother's innocence endearing, if it wasn't so horrendously tragic.

He remembered his Uncle Mathias and Aunt Birgit too, who barely said a word during the whole day, with Birgit silently mourning the illegitimate child she'd distanced herself from when they were a baby. Mathias hadn't said a word to Berwald, though he'd given his younger brother a hug, one that said more than he ever could with words. He hated Berwald for what he'd done, but had never wanted to see the man's children dead.

Lars spied Franz striding towards him, a slight frown on his face.

"Can I ask a favour, dear," he began.

"Sure."

"I need you to pick up a cake I baked for the reception," Franz told him.

"You baked a cake for a funeral?" Lars raised an eyebrow.

Franz rolled his eyes. "It's polite to contribute your own dish to a funeral reception. Takes less pressure off the mourning family," he added.

"Right, fine. I'll just pop over now," Lars turned to start walking, but was interrupted by a familiar, pained cry. He wheeled round to find Björn had collapsed at the top of the stairs, on his side and clutching his knee in agony. Tino was next to him, voice raised and panicky as he tried to find out what happened to his son.

Lars burst into a run. He wasn't one for such a thing, but he had to know what was wrong with Björn. Björn was fragile, and Lars would always protect the kid fiercely, just like the rest of the family.

"He's had another bleed," Tino called as Lars reached the bottom of the stairs, "he needs his factor, quickly!"

"Where is it?" Lars called back.

"At home, in the bathroom cupboard."

"I'll get it!" Lars burst into a run, this time in the opposite direction, sprinting faster than he ever thought possible.

But hey, his little brother needed him.


	14. Unhinged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically someone's gonna die in this chapter and I'm not telling you who, only warning you that it'll happen so be prepared for guns and fights and stuff.

Lars wondered if he had enough time for another stop. After all, his and Franz's flat was between Tino and Berwald's house and the cemetery, and he had been given two jobs to do by two different people who were very special to him. And what would make Björn happier than his brother turning up with his medicine and a tasty cake?

Yes, it was to make Björn happy and do what Franz asked him to, and totally not because he had a feeling of being followed and wanted to get off the street. And quick. Every time he glanced behind him, though, the road and pavement would be empty. But that feeling stayed with him, and made him uneasy. He jumped at the slightest noise or touch, then brushed it off as superstition.

The syringe of factor lay nestled in his blazer pocket, still in its packet. It was strange though, Björn getting two bleeds within the space of a week. Lars remembered Berwald mentioning the elbow bleed in a phone call. And now this… Was something wrong with him?

They'd been complacent before, thought his condition was being dealt with, and had been given an ultimate scare…

That wave of paranoia struck him again, and Lars was convinced he was being stalked by something malicious. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and it took every ounce of self-control not to run screaming. He wheeled around, and once again the street was empty, save for a single flower in the middle of the pavement. Lars thought nothing of it. There were flowering trees along this lane, and chances were that the wind had blown it from its twig, so he shook his head and started walking again. It was just the wind.

He spied his building down the road and increased his pace. Two minutes. He'd be in and back out within two minutes.

Their area was pretty pleasant, and the hall of their building didn't contain graffiti or litter. All the carpets and light bulbs were still in place, and Lars loved the homely, clean feel.

He dashed up the stairs and through his door. Slowing his pace, he entered the kitchen and found a cake tin on the counter: a spring-themed one Franz's mother had bought for them as a wedding gift all those years ago. Easy. And he was still on time.

The creak of a floorboard behind him startled Lars, and he wheeled round, a childhood and adulthood spent playing video games filling his mind with all sorts of ghastly scenarios involving zombies or masked serial killers. His heart was in his throat as he glanced around the kitchen.

But there was no one there.

Of course there was! Lars chided himself for being so paranoid and picked up the cake. He really needed to lay off the horror games. On, second thoughts, that didn't sound so fun.

He walked out of the room, and barely had time to register a figure standing in the doorway before a knife went whizzing past his eye, embedding itself in the door frame.

"What the hell?!" he cried, leaping back as the attacker pulled out a gun. Lars jumped into the kitchen as gunshots fired, ducking behind the door. The bullets sprayed across the empty hall, but none hit their target.

His attacker dashed after him, and when they burst into the kitchen, he threw the cake tin at them, hitting them square in the face.

They staggered, and Lars got a good look at who was trying to kill him. An anonymous figure, dressed in a dark uniform. A balaclava covered their head but a pair of wide, watery eyes stared at him as they raised their gun, still wobbling and disorientated.

They fired.

The bullet hit the ceiling.

Lars lunged forward and tackled them, sending them both tumbling to the floor. He knocked the gun out of their hand and it went spinning across the kitchen under the table.

The pair exchanged blows, the trained assassin having the upper hand over the lanky illustrator. Lars was soon tossed onto his back, his attacker pinning his arms down with a hand. They pulled out a dagger, holding it over his throat and Lars gulped before bringing his knee up and hitting the back of their leg. Hard. They stumbled, and Lars managed to wrestle his hands free, turning around and crawling out of their legs. His body ached as he dragged himself across the tiles, towards the table.

The dagger slashed at his calf muscle and a hand covered his mouth, yanking his head back painfully, but he had it.

A weapon.

His fingertips had curled around the handle of the gun and he twisted his torso around to fire.

And shot his attacker point-blank in the face.

The assassin's head snapped back from the impact, and Lars was sprayed in warm blood as he tried not to scream. Their balaclava was stained red from the stuff, and brain tissue oozing from their forehead. Their body went limp, and fell on top of him, causing Lars to yelp and drop the gun. He pushed the dead weight off his torso with trembling hands, covering his face as he let out an agonised sob. He killed someone. A human being. He shot them dead without a second thought.

He felt sick.

But it was self defence, right? They were going to kill him and he had to fight back.

Lars tried not to think of what his family would say, or what he should say to the police. He just lay there, trapped in a horrifying, timeless bubble, staring at the masked body next to him. It had all happened too quickly. He hoped it was a nightmare.

But of course, it wasn't. It was his appalling reality.

Eventually, he swallowed the sick in his mouth, and reached over to unmask his potential murderer. They were shorter than him, chubby and completely covered, probably to avoid leaving DNA traces behind them. He gulped and, after a few attempts, finally pulled their balaclava off, gasping as he realised he recognised the girl's face, from his brother and husband's work parties. And he had seen that grieving face at Francis Bonnefoy's funeral.

Because there, lying on his kitchen floor stone dead, with Francis and Monique's little sister: Angelique Bonnefoy.

…

"I've never been more disgusted by your behaviour in my entire life, Eemeli Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen," Tino was nearly hysterical by now, and thankfully not the one driving them home, "and that really is saying something."

Peter couldn't help the gleeful smile that crawled onto his face every time one of his siblings got in trouble, and he decided to make the situation worse for his youngest brother. He still hadn't gotten a decent revenge for Eemeli shaving his eyebrows off in his sleep a few months ago.

"It's even worse than the time he replaced Yrjan's conditioner with hair remover cream?" he exclaimed in mock-horror.

"Yes!"

"Or the time he tried to build a death ray?"

"Yes!"

"Or that time he went streaking through a shopping centre on a dare?"

"Yes!"

"Or that time he replaced Björn's prophylaxis with vodka?"

"Well… no, that was probably worse."

"Peter, shut the fuck up," hissed Eemeli.

"I thought it was funny," Björn tried.

"It might've killed you! Had Ber not smelt the difference." Tino shook his head; "you have no idea where to draw the line, Eemeli. And now…"

"Just trying to cheer Björn up," Eemeli mumbled from the back seat, and Björn turned to grin at him. He was sprawled out on the middle row of seats, seat belt off- much to Berwald's horror- and leg almost paralysed. He couldn't move it and the knee was swelling badly now. His leg was resting on Peter's lap, and Peter stroked his brother's hair softly.

"You told a funeral joke! To Tsvetan!" Tino shook his head again.

The family remembered looking on in horror, unable to stop Eemeli from pulling Tsvetan to the side as they were leaving the cemetery and asking him what was the difference between a Balkan wedding and a Balkan funeral. He'd barely had time to exclaim 'one less drunk!' before a livid Tino grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away.

"Thought he could do with cheering up too," Eemeli shrugged whilst Björn let out a giggle.

"He burst into tears!"

"I honestly did not see that coming," Eemeli tilted his head slightly; "was it too soon?"

"Yes it was too soon!" cried Peter, "his family were murdered last week!"

"I should've let you die in a sock." Tino rested his head against the dashboard, and Peter groaned.

"I didn't need to hear that!" he cried.

"I don't get it," said Björn but before anyone could reply, he let out a whimper. "My leg!"

"He's getting worse," Peter added.

"Yes, Peter, we can see that!" Tino snapped before turning to Berwald. "Hurry up! You drive like a Grandma!"

"But Björn isn't wearing his seatbelt," Berwald mumbled, refusing to increase his steady pace of just under the speed limit.

"I don't care! Just go!"

"T'no…"

"Where the hell has Lars got to? I gave him one job and he couldn't manage that!"

"He's pr'bably been held up," Berwald shrugged, "just drop it."

"Fine," Tino exhaled sharply, folding his arms and sulking. "So Peter," he began, instantly cheerful, "are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," Peter smiled.

"Sorry for not doing anything, but I didn't want to leave the others unsupervised," he threw a glare in Eemeli's direction.

"It's fine, really! I had Papa."

"It must've been hard for you," he continued with a sigh, "after what happened on your last mission too…"

"Thank you, Isi!" Peter really didn't want to be reminded of how he was nearly tortured to death, with fire of all things.

"Oh, sorry," Tino looked down, frowning as his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, snarled at the name on the screen, and pressed it to his ear.

"Where the fuck are you?" he hissed, "Björn's in agony here and needs an injection! We're on the way home now and you better have a fucking good explanation prepared."

There was silence in the car.

"What do you mean you want us to help you hide a body?" Tino shook his head in disbelief. "Now's not the time for jokes!"

"Gimme the phone!" Eemeli exclaimed, leaning forward and reaching out a hand, "I know all about this! Though I'm not sure where we could get a bath full of acid from… maybe cut them up into tiny pieces?"

"Hang on a sec… shut the fuck up Eemeli!" Tino shouted, wheeling round to glare at his youngest child before focusing on his phone once more, "don't bullshit me, Lars, what's going on? …Why are you crying?"

Berwald glanced over anxiously, pulling over so he could listen properly.

" _Someone tried to kill you_? …As in, a Commonwealth assassin? …Where are you sweetie? …Okay, we'll be there in a minute."

He put the phone back in his pocket and snapped his head to the side, glaring at Berwald.

"Why the fuck did you stop? Drive!"

Berwald didn't move. "What the fuck's happened to my son?" he said slowly, voice low and fierce.

"You mentioned Commonwealth, Isi," Peter leaned closer.

"Lars was attacked in his home," Tino choked, covering his mouth his a hand, "he's injured, but alive, and somehow killed his attacker in the struggle."

"His home?" Berwald's expression gave little away.

"Yes."

He didn't reply, but started the engine again, driving off as fast as he'd allow himself to, which was still too slow for Tino's liking. The family sat in stunned silence throughout the short journey to Lars' flat, and Peter wondered if he should text the other agents and let them know. All in good time, he decided. He wanted to know what exactly was going on first, and talk to his brother privately. And give him time to calm down before letting Andrei or the police loose on him.

One agonisingly sluggish drive later, and they were parked outside Lars' flat. Peter and Tino were climbing out before the car had stopped moving, and Berwald only paused to order Björn and Eemeli to stay put before following.

The trio ran up the stairs, Peter leaps and bounds ahead of his ageing parents, and burst through the front door of the Oxenstjärna-Edelstein flat.

And in the kitchen, they found Lars, tears streaming down his face as he clutched a body, petite and a bloody mess of dark, frizzy hair. The young man looked up, wiping some of the blood smeared across his face and only succeeding in smudging it, eyes wide with terror as he whispered in a cracked voice:

"Help me… please."


	15. Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katya- Ukraine
> 
> …
> 
> To be honest, this chapter's a complete train wreck, so sorry for that.

"Lars!" Peter ran forward before falling to his knees and pulling his little brother into a hug. Lars was trembling, clutching his attacker's body as he let out a sob.

"I didn't mean… I didn't want to kill her! I wasn't aiming to kill!"

"I know. You're not like that." Peter looked down, and wondered just what Lars was aiming to do, judging by the bullet hole in their forehead. However, that thought was driven from his mind when he realised he recognised that face.

"Angie?" he whispered. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Little Angie Bonnefoy was a Commonwealth assassin? No! There was no way she could be! This wasn't happening!

"Sweetie…" Tino appeared in the doorway, breathless and leaning heavily on the doorframe. But when he went to embrace Lars, Peter held up a hand.

"Stay back," he choked, "this is a crime scene now. We can't contaminate the evidence." He stood up, trying his best to remain professional, though all he wanted to do was to run back to his brother and promise to protect him. The attempt on his life was clearly traumatising for the man.

"But you just did!"

"Yes and that was a mistake." Peter tried not to touch anything as he moved back towards the door. "I'm sorry, but…"

Lars let go of the body with shaking hands, reaching out for his father and brother, and he was no longer an adult in Peter's eyes. Peter saw him as a child, crying and injured and desperate for someone to comfort him, though he'd never say it out loud.

He wanted to run over and comfort Lars, and tell him that everything would be fine, but it wasn't. And unless he could prove Angie was working for Commonwealth, and thus the same person who was behind the other attacked, Lars would be branded a murderer.

Well, he wouldn't be convicted of 'murder', per say…

"Am I gonna go to prison?" Lars sobbed.

"I don't know," Peter sighed.

"Am I a murderer?" he asked, wiping his face.

"Of course not," Tino tried, and Peter nodded.

"If you're convicted, it will most likely be on a manslaughter charge, not a murder one."

That only succeeded in making Lars cry harder.

Peter winced as he stepped back into the hall, telling Berwald, who had just arrived, not to touch Lars or go in the kitchen before running into Lars and Franz's bedroom. This was where Franz would keep his spy equipment, right?

Several minutes of snooping later, and Peter had seen more than he'd have liked to, but he'd found the suitcase of Franz's gadgets. Rushing back into the kitchen, he ignored his parents' questions and opened the thing in the doorway.

"Should we call the police?" Berwald asked, and Peter shook his head.

"I want to talk to Lars first," he replied, "then I'll phone the agents and get the police involved."

"And c'n you please explain why m'not allowed to hug my son?"

"Evidence contamination," Peter growled, "this room is the only thing standing between Lars and a prison sentence. So far he's the only one to survive a Commonwealth attack and I won't have him being arrested for that."

Lars listened to all this in silence.

"But I can't believe Angie would try and kill her friend," Tino shook his head.

"If it's true that she was working for Commonwealth, then that means she may have killed her own brother," Peter replied grimly, "now, Lars…" he picked up a handheld voice recorder and turned it on. "Tell me everything."

So Lars gave an account of his attack, from his feelings of being stalked to Angie cornering him in his house to the fight and him shooting her. He tired not to look at her body, and several times he paused to compose himself, or swallow sick. All the while, Peter stood there silently, staring at the rip in Lars' trousers and the blood dripping from it onto the floor. Another scar, to match the faint ones on his thigh. Peter noticed bruises on his neck and face too.

When Lars had finished, Peter nodded and stopped the recording, placing the thing in his pocket. He'd pass it on to Agent Patch later.

"I'm so sorry," Lars whispered to Angie, burying his face in her hair.

"But she tried to kill you," Tino frowned.

"She's still my friend," he stroked her hair.

"Lars, she's the reason we had to bury Alin and his kids today. She murdered three children under five years old!"

"We don't know that for sure," Lars tried.

"Well," Peter exhaled sharply, "Katya told me the DNA samples from the Radacanu-Borisov murders would be ready by Monday, so we'll soon know for sure."

"Lars," began Berwald, "do you have Björn's medicine?"

Lars nodded, and reached into his pocket, pulling out the syringe and tossing it to his father. Peter caught it, and handed it Berwald, who disappeared to give his son the injection.

"Peter, I just killed someone…"

"I've killed people before on missions. Isi had to kill people as part of his job too."

"Don't," Tino looked at the ground, blinking back tears, "I joined the army to save lives."

"And I'm an illustrator," Lars mumbled, "I draw for a living. I create, not destroy."

No one said anything for a long moment. Finally, Peter sighed and pulled out his phone.

"I guess we need to get the other agents involved now."

…

The reception at Tsvetan's house was a dreary affair, unsurprisingly. Tsvetan, assisted by his cousin Katya, talked to guests and mourners, who offered condolences, talking about the sheer tragedy of their deaths until Tsvetan wanted to scream.

Andrei, meanwhile, was attempting to eat his grief away at the buffet table, eyes burning as he picked up a photograph resting on a nearby table. Alin, Tsvetan and their children smiled up at him. He couldn't bring himself to smile back.

Alin and Eugen were murdered in this very room, he noted as he looked around, and he didn't like being here. Neither did Tsvetan, who had stayed at Andrei's flat nearly every night for the past week, and Andrei knew he was considering moving in permanently. He wasn't sure though, because although he couldn't bear to be in the building where his family had been murdered, the place still held those warm, precious memories he was desperate to conserve. There was also a part of Tsvetan that wanted to let the place fall into ruin, but he couldn't afford not to sell the house if he moved out.

The blood had been cleared up, at least. Andrei walked into the hall for some peace and quiet, trying not to walk over the spot where Dragomir had fallen. He stared at the upstairs landing, trying not to picture the blurry, anonymous attacker that had climbed those stairs to shoot Skender. The attacker that left several bullets and a single flower- a rose- behind, placing the flower in Skender's hand before disappearing. Every criminal left a trace, and those were theirs. Hopefully it would be enough to hunt them down.

He'd get his revenge somehow.

Andrei felt a prickle of guilt in his chest; he'd accused Luca of being revenge-driven, but he was just as bad.

"Hey kid."

Andrei turned around to find Daniél leaning against the door, staring at him evenly.

"Hello," he replied, voice flat.

"How you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, given the situation."

Daniél nodded.

"Look," Andrei began, "I know you and Alin didn't really like each other, so I appreciate you coming along and all."

"Hey, I didn't get along with the guy, but I never wanted him…" he shook his head, "not him, or his children."

Andrei didn't reply.

"Come on, no point sulking out here," Daniél held out a hand and Andrei took it, allowing the other agent to lead him back into the sitting room. They spied Monique in the corner, frowning as she tapped at her mobile.

"Something wrong?" Daniél asked, walking over to her.

"My sister isn't replying to my texts," she muttered. "It's bad enough she's late. She told me she'd be on time but now she'd missed the service and the burial!"

"Angie's probably been held up by something," Andrei shrugged, "I'm sure she has a good explanation."

"Maybe she doesn't really want to face another funeral," Daniél tried, "you two were only burying your brother a short while back."

"Yes, I remember, unsurprisingly," Monique sighed.

"Of course…"

"You think that's bad," Franz cut in, joining them, "my husband's entire family has disappeared."

"Well their little boy was really ill," Daniél replied.

"Yes but I don't see why that means the whole lot of them have to disappear," Franz rolled his eyes, "not to mention Lars is supposed to be bringing my cake."

"Well, somehow, I don't think Tino will let Eemeli come back, not after what he said," Andrei added, and Daniél had to conceal a smile.

"You can't have honestly found that little shit funny," Franz exclaimed.

Daniél shrugged, and was about to reply when Andrei's phone went off.

"Huh?" he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, "Seagull? Peter?"

The group fell silent, Daniél beckoning Oscar and Anri, who had walked past, to join them.

"What's up?" Andrei asked. He paused as he listened to the reply. "What about Lars? Calm down, I can't understand you!"

"Lars? What happened to Lars?" Franz leaned against Andrei's shoulder heavily, "does he have my cake?"

"He was attacked?" Andrei covered his mouth with a hand.

"But is the cake okay?"

"Shouldn't you be more worried about your husband?" asked Oscar.

"Well if Andrei says he was attacked, and not murdered, then he should be fine," Franz shrugged, "he is fine, right?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Andrei growled, "Peter, what happened to your brother? …I see. Yes, Monique is here, why? …We'll be right over."

"What happened to Lars?" Franz asked, voice low.

"He was attacked, by a Commonwealth assassin," Andrei looked at the floor as he pocketed his phone, "and survived. He killed the assassin too."

"What? No way!" cried Daniél cried, "that's never happened before!"

"Was he hurt?" Franz gripped Andrei's shoulder harder.

"Why did Peter ask after me though?" asked Monique, glancing down at her phone before shaking her head.

"I don't know," Andrei replied, though it was clear he was lying; "Peter can tell you himself when we get there."

"Shall we get going now?" asked Daniél.

"Well I wasn't planning on staying and eating more sandwiches," Andrei replied dryly.

"Would it be bad if I said I was?" Oscar cut in.

"Yes, now let's get Tsvetan and Luca and get going," Monique grabbed his arm, but Andrei stopped them.

"Let's not go and get Tsvetan involved just yet," he said, "he's busy, and besides, he has Katya to look after him. Grab Agent Fondue and meet me outside in thirty seconds."

…

"No! Angie!" Monique screamed, trying to reach her sister. Oscar and Anri held her back, dragging her from the kitchen. "That's my baby sister in there!"

"There's nothing you can do for her!" Oscar cried.

"Mon, she tried to kill someone," Anri added.

"No! Not her!"

Lars and Franz's kitchen was a mess. Officer Nguyễn, first officer on the scene, was trying desperately to retain control of the situation.

"I need everyone out of here right now!" she shouted, but with two sets of agents; Mr Oxenstjärna-Edelstein; the man's parents; and now his younger brothers, who had come up with the other agents to see all the excitement- Eemeli supporting his older brother, who was limping badly-; there were simply too many people, who all needed to be gone from the room by the time the CSIs arrived. The two boys were quickly shielded by Berwald, who pulled them into the hall, but the flat was still crowded. Lars was still sobbing, but had at least been moved away from the body, and was sat in a dining chair whilst Agents Seagull and Edelweiss tried to comfort him, Edelweiss also mourning the loss of his cake, and in shock at the betrayal of his friend. Still, his relief that his husband was alive was evident, as he gently stroked Lars' hair. Agent Monte Carlo was hysterical, and beyond talking to. Tino just leaned against the wall, mind lost and muttering to himself.

"Agent Patch, Agent Magyar," she snapped, "get everyone out of here."

"Where should we take them?" asked Andrei.

"Well, outside, of course. Put some handcuffs on Seagull's brother, calm Monte Carlo down and get all the witnesses ready to take statements, including any other of the building's tenants you find." She threw the duo a harsh glare. "And keep your Agents out of my way."

"Of course," Daniél nodded.

"Okay everyone out," she called, "this is a crime scene. Get out or you'll be arrested!"

 _That_  everyone heard. The agents slowly filed out, Luca taking Tino by the hand. The man flinched, but didn't resist.

"Where do we go?" Franz asked, helping Lars up.

"Outside," Officer Nguyễn replied, "Hassan will look after you all. He'll get Mr Oxenstjärna-Edelstein in a police van and take him to be questioned."

"What?!" cried Peter and Lars at the same time.

Officer Nguyễn sighed. "Well then you explain that dead body on the floor;" she pointed at Angie, covered in a sheet.

"But Officer, it was in self-defence," Peter gushed, "Angie was the same person to kill Alin and Francis and those other people!"

"Prove that, and he might have a chance." Officer Nguyễn pulled out a pair of handcuffs, wrapping them around Lars' wrists. "Now clear out. Officer Hassan has a few questions for you all." Peter could only watch as she led his brother away.

…

"There's no way my little sister's a mass murderer," Monique growled; "it has to be a trick!" She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes, smearing makeup across the side of her face. "Peter's brother must've made it up!"

"Now, now, Monique Bonnefoy," Daniél chided, "don't be going all illogical on us. You're the smart one here."

"Give her a break," Luca told him, "her sister just got killed."

"Still," Daniél frowned, "this is no time for losing your head."

The three were gathered outside the block of flats with the other agents as well as Tino, Berwald and their sons. Lars had already been taken away for questioning, though Andrei had assured him it wasn't a problem. If he told the truth, and Angie's DNA results matched the samples from the Radacanu-Borisov murders, then chances were that he could walk free. After all, Commonwealth had been responsible for hundreds of murders across the continent, and if Lars hadn't acted, then he'd just be another of those killings, and the assassin would still be at large.

Tino and Berwald were horrified at the sight of their child being arrested, and the whole day seemed to be having a drastic effect on Tino, though Berwald was the only one to actually notice it. And even he was somewhat distracted between Björn's illness, Eemeli's morbid curiosity, Lars' distress and Peter's insistence on playing detective.

"I don't want to accept it," Monique whispered, pulling her blanket tighter around her. She was sat on the steps, in between Agents Magyar and Fondue, clutching the edges of her wool blanket with trembling fingers. Agent Fondue wrapped an arm around his childhood friend's shoulders.

"I wouldn't want to accept it either," Luca muttered.

"But Angie… my Angie… working for those people?" Monique covered her mouth with a hand. "Why? How could she?"

"That's what we'd like to know too."

Monique looked up to find Agent Patch and Officer Hassan glaring down at her.

"Patch, what are you saying?" asked Agent Magyar slowly.

"Well, put it this way: we have a traitor in our midst, you see Officer," Andrei glanced at Hassan, who tried his best shocked. "And I know Agent Magyar is aware." He sighed; "it just seems pretty fishy that the sister of one of our agents is found to be working for Commonwealth."

"What traitor?" exclaimed Monte Carlo, "this is the first I've heard of this!"

"You can't possibly think Monique knows anything!" exclaimed Magyar.

"Stick to the codenames," Andrei growled, "and yes, I have reason to suspect Agent Monte Carlo is that traitor. Or one of them at least," he glared at Luca, who rolled his eyes.

"No, you have to believe me, I'd never betray you!" cried Monique, "they killed my brother!"

"They also killed Angie's brother."

"Angie… and Francis…" Monique looked away, "they didn't exactly get along… but I never imagined…"

"And what about you?" Andrei raised an eyebrow.

"I loved them both dearly. They were my big brother and baby sister."

"That's not what I asked."

"I would never kill them, or betray this country."

"Well we can't be sure," Andrei replied, "and besides, this isn't exactly your country, is it? So no emotional connection there, and probably no qualms about betraying it! And what do you care for our efforts to preserve the EU? Your country isn't even in it!"

"Neither is yours," Monique shot back.

"How rude. Still, we just want to question you," he glanced at Officer Hassan, "and when I say we, I mean the police, though they will be providing us with records of your interrogation."

"Naturally."

"But I'm innocent! Whatever crimes you think my sister committed, I had no part in them!"

"Then this shouldn't take long," Andrei turned to walk away.

"Monte Carlo," began Agent Magyar, "just go with them. Even if you're not involved in Commonwealth and were unaware of your sister's involvement, you can still assist our inquiry. Even a little thing you mention about your sis- Angie's behaviour up until her death can prove helpful."

"I see. Then I will come quietly." Monique nodded, and allowed Officer Hassan to handcuff her and lead her towards a police car. Luca and Daniél could only watch her go.

"I don't want to seem like a bastard," Luca began, "but at least this leaves me in the clear, I guess."

"Don't get so complacent," Andrei barked, still in earshot "we don't know how many moles there are, but we do know you and Monte Carlo go way back."

Luca groaned, running a hand through his hair. Once Monique had been driven away, Daniél stood up and turned on Agent Patch.

"Okay, what's your game?" he growled, pulling his colleague to one side.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh you do. Going round accusing my agents of being moles!"

"That's because we know there is one," Andrei replied, "and they're my agents too, if you haven't forgotten. You're perfectly at liberty to accuse Seagull, Edelweiss, Yogurt and Fondue of betraying the organisation, should you see reason to."

"And you saw reason to have Monique arrested like that?"

Andrei let out a sigh. "Of course. Look, her sister's already been discovered to have been a Commonwealth assassin. What's to say they're not keeping it in the family?"

"But Francis… I can't imagine Monte Carlo being capable of taking out her own brother."

"I can see her doing so more than I can Angelique," Andrei scratched his chin, "you knew the girl as well as I. Angie wasn't a killer."

"I don't know," Daniél glanced at the block of flats, "she always seemed odd to me."

"How so?"

"She always had a look of desperation about her, at least whenever I saw her," Daniél noted, "and she was nervous. Jumpy."

"Now that you mention it…" Andrei chuckled, "she hid it well though. Not perfectly, but enough for us not to suspect her."

"So she's condemned in your eyes?"

Andrei didn't speak for a while. "What does it matter? What I think won't bring her back to life. And we certainly can't ask her ourselves. All we can do is wait for the evidence to be processed and see what that tells us."

"And if it proves her guilt?"

"It won't be a surprise. Lars was attacked by her in his own home, after all."

"Poor Monique though, if she's proven to not be involved."

"Yeah, that's gotta be rough," Andrei spat on the floor, "losing Alin was hell, but at least I knew he always stood by me and Tsvet."


	16. Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this next chapter. I wonder if anyone's guessed the mole yet. Hopefully not. I'm not planning on having anyone find out.

"I'm afraid your Death Angel has failed," spoke the voice on the other end of the line, slow and accented. Liz scowled.

"My Death Angels never fail me," she hissed, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malika look up.

"Well Miss Angelique did. I'm sorry to say this, but your target overpowered her when she attacked him and he got away."

"Are you trying to tell me Miss Bonnefoy has been arrested?" Liz fiddled with the cord of the phone, panic rising. This was most inconvenient indeed. She should've disposed of Angelique while she still had the chance.

"No. I'm trying to tell you she's dead."

Liz exhaled. "That's a relief. I won't have to send someone to kill her."

"You're not at all upset by the news?" the voice seemed surprised.

"I'm annoyed, I'll admit. But upset? No. I was planning on getting rid of her anyways. The girl wasn't much of an assassin anyway, that's probably why the target is still running around alive." Liz glanced over at Malika, who looked at the floor, lip quivering. She could easily guess her partner's fate.

"It was shocking news to us all though," the voice rose in false exclamation, "how the darling little sister of one of the DSA's own members could be a cold-blooded killer! And working for Commonwealth too! It certainly made Agent Monte Carlo cry. And made her a suspect in her bosses' eyes."

"How wonderful to hear," Liz chuckled before her face became serious again; "our target lives though. I can't have that happening."

"Well going after him again would be risky."

Liz frowned. "How so?"

"He's been arrested. And when he's released, they'll have him under witness protection. It'll be nearly impossible to reach him."

"So? We've killed those in protection before, and I'm sure you could easily, as one of the few people with access to him, steer him in the path of his own destruction. I want Lars Oxenstjärna-Edelstein dead."

"Yes, but the DSA are involved in this one big time and they're not willing to put him in danger. Not only is he key, he's also the husband of one agent and the younger brother of another. They'll be desperate to keep him safe. Besides, he killed a trained assassin. I wouldn't want to go up against him, and I doubt the others will either."

"You'll do whatever I want you to. If I tell you to stab each member of your family 23 times, then you do it without question."

"I'm aware. What I'm offering you is a safer alternative. Something the DSA won't be expecting, and, ultimately, something far more devastating."

"Alright. I'm listening. This better be good, otherwise I'll make you kill the Swede  _and_  your entire family."

"What about  _Agent Seagull's_  entire family?"

Silence. Liz took a moment to let the idea seep in, considering it carefully. "Sounds like a risky mission. Wiping out the Radacanu-Borisov family was full of enough tricky variables, and most of those were babies."

"Mmm, not really. Two pensioners and two schoolboys? They're almost pitiful. Although, I should warn you Mr Väinämöinen was the one to train his children how to use guns, and he still has his firearms licence. I saw what the son did to your Death Angel. Hole in the head. I remember mentioning to you that Mr Väinämöinen was a war veteran."

"He was part of the UN peacekeeping forces, right? Yugoslavia, among other places."

"Yes, but he's retired now. He may know how to use a gun, but he's still a decrepit old man. And his husband loathes violence of any kind."

Liz thought for a moment. "And the boys?"

"Just two living with them- the youngest- as well as Seagull himself. They have six children altogether, but two are dead. And Seagull… Maybe your assassin can take out one of the agents too."

"That would be nice," Liz smiled, "but what about the two boys?"

"Teens. 19 and 17. The older one's a bland brat- too polite and friendly- and the younger one's a scary bastard, erratic and somewhat sadistic so you'd have to watch out for him. I never liked either of them, but they should be easy enough to kill. And the older one has haemophilia. It's hard enough to survive a gunshot wound as it is." There was a spiteful edge to that last sentence.

"Well, I'll be sending a spy who's far more competent against children this time," Liz stared at Malika for a long moment.

"Good to know. The names are Tino, Berwald, Björn and Eemeli Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen, by the way."

"Noted," Liz pulled her lips into a malicious smile.

"You'll be doing me a favour, in all honesty. Eemeli's a prick and Tino's an arse to talk to. Too chirpy and always telling bad jokes."

"Now, now, my mole. You better not be trying to manipulate me."

"Not at all. I just wanted to suggest an arrangement we could both benefit from."

"Is me letting your family live not enough of a benefit for you?" Liz raised an eyebrow.

The voice chuckled. "Of course."

"Because I can always make them disappear…"

"And risk having your spy turn against you? My partners could have you under police custody in 12 hours." The voice seemed amused, and Liz scowled into the phone.

"Don't get cocky, and don't underestimate me. I can have you dead within the hour, if I wished."

"I know. And that's why I will be a good little mole. You can count on me."

"I hope for your sake that's true. Because I don't take kindly to betrayal, or even incompetence."

"I am aware."

"This still leaves Lars Oxenstjärna-Edelstein alive. I don't like that."

"You'll have an opportunity to kill him. Later, when everything's calmed down and they've forgotten he's a target. I doubt he knows much anyway, so there's no rush in killing him."

"I still can't risk it. Can't have anything that could jeopardise my plans, now."

"You have no need to fear, Boss. We are still strong."

"Strong, but not indestructible."

"The DSA fears you are. They're terrified."

"And that will make them desperate," Liz growled; "desperate people take stupid risks. And they might just get lucky."

"Nevertheless, with me you'll be one step ahead of them."

"You better pray that stays so."

"I was never one for praying- Boss- but I'll take heed of your words."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Liz hung up the phone and turned to look at her remaining assassin, who tried to wipe her eyes discretely. "Malika, I have a job for you."

…

"Look, Andrei, the lab isn't open on weekends and you know that. You'll have to wait for Monday to get the test results, and I'll have to dig up the findings from the other cases, but I can assure you they're my top priority." Katya hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. She loved the kid dearly, but by God he could be a bossy little brat at times. All that power and influence had gone to his head; Katya was sure of it.

"Where is Andrei anyway?" asked Tsvetan from the settee, "he disappeared halfway through the reception with no explanation. He hasn't replied to my texts and I'm starting to get worried. All night. He's been gone all night!"

"He was busy, had some work to do."

"What work could be more important than his brother's funeral?"

Katya glanced at her phone, setting it down in its holder and sighing. She could tell him now, surely.

"Tsvet," she began, sitting down next to him.

"Yes?" he replied, taking a sip of wine, and she took the opportunity to pour a glass for herself.

"Andrei had to go to a crime scene." Katya chose her words carefully, flattening her skirt. "There was another attack."

"Oh no," Tsvetan covered his mouth, nodding, "you mean a Commonwealth attack?" Katya nodded miserably. "Who was it? Are they… are they… safe?"

"It was Lars, and he's fine, thankfully," Katya smiled briefly, "in fact, he managed to kill his assassin."

"He's okay? Thank goodness! Wait, does this mean they know who killed…" He looked away.

"Yes, they have identified the assassin who attacked Lars. But they need to compare DNA samples, so we cannot say for sure if they killed Alin and the children. That's what Andrei was bugging me about."

Tsvetan didn't speak for a long moment. "Who? Who did it?"

"I'm sorry to say that you know them. Angelique Bonnefoy."

"What? You're lying!" Tsvetan snapped his head up to face her.

"That's what Andrei told me." Katya shrugged.

"She could've killed," Tsvetan faltered, "her… her own…"

"We don't know for sure just yet. All we know is she tried to kill Lars."

Tsvetan leaned back, staring into space. "He's lucky. He's so bloody lucky."

…

If Lars was lucky, he certainly didn't feel it.

After being interrogated repeatedly and vigorously by the polizei- and spending the night in a cell- Franz and his own parents paid his bail and now he was cramped together with his husband and his in-laws in their hotel room. Roderich could've afforded better and Lars knew it. Still, a cheap bed and breakfast was far more preferable to a prison cell.

Although Elise had had her own suite, for safety reasons, everyone decided to sleep in the one room and there were polizei guarding the door, though that could also have been to stop Lars doing a runner. Not that he planned to. Going on the run was hard enough, but dragging prissy, loud, weird Franz along too? They'd be caught in a heartbeat. And there was no way he'd do it without his husband.

Not to mention there was really no need.

"Well, this has been an interesting trip, to say the least," began Roderich, sitting on the double bed knitting.

"Oh don't start," grumbled Lars, laying down on the sofa bed. The one he'd have to share with Franz  _and_  Elise, that could only really fit two people. Stupid budget hotels. Stupid stingy father-in-law.

"We're glad you're safe though," Érzsebét told him.

"Thank you," he smiled at her. Lars was rather fond of fierce, funny, kind Érzsebét, who was now the closest thing he had to a mother figure. Not that he'd ever tell Franz that; it might creep him out.

Lars was happy Roderich and Érzsebét liked him, and thought he was a good match for their kid, once they'd gotten used to him. They'd thought he was nice when he was dating Elise too, though their relations soured slightly when he first stared dating Franz, having only just left a heartbroken Elise. He still thought Elise was lovely; he just wasn't in love with her and never would be.

And that did make family get-togethers a bit awkward.

Still, Elise had long moved on, and last he'd heard she was engaged to a young Belarussian girl.

"Sorry to hear what happened though, and we truly are happy you're alive," began Elise herself, wandering out of the bathroom and getting in the sofa bed as far away from Lars as she could. The usual glare she threw in his direction when they talked was replaced by a worried look; "Franz would have been devastated if… well, you know…"

"Yeah," Lars smiled, touched by her words.

"I can't believe you weaponised my cake though!" cried Franz, crawling under the duvet between them.

"Well I was holding it and someone was shooting at me," Lars rolled his eyes, "what was I supposed to do?"

"Protect the cake!"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course not," Franz took Lars' hand, "I'm so relieved I get to see your smiling face again, to hold your hand once more. I don't know what I'd have done without you." Elise pulled a face.

"Thank you. I'm pretty happy to be alive too."

"Besides," Franz added with a laugh, "I can always bake a million more cakes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realised it took me four fucking chapters to write about the one funeral that's probably one of the most Irish things I've done to date. Chances are there will be more funeral scenes too.


	17. Murder most foul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adriaan- Netherlands
> 
> Kumar- Aryavart
> 
> …
> 
> Yes, I know, long time no see, huh? I've been a bit busy catching up on my drawing, and this chapter's pretty long. A lot of fic chapters are currently WIPs so hopefully I'll be updating some other stuff soon.
> 
> Now Aryavart is another micronation oc, this time in India, though it claims land in a bunch of countries. The character's paired with Bjornsocialist in another au, so I decided to add him here too, though he's only mentioned, and it's mainly for plot reasons and part of Björn's backstory… his Bjackstory.
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Beware more lame jokes in this chapter.

"Was it really necessary to make me come in?" Peter growled as he leaned back in the chair; "I don't really want to leave my family right now."

"I understand," Andrei nodded; "you can go as soon as we're finished."

They were sat in his office once more, Monday afternoon sunshine blocked by the blinds covering the windows, Andrei now paranoid that someone could be spying on them from a building outside. Peter was convinced the man was going loopy. He needed a holiday or something! The Agent even considered slipping a brochure for Butlins onto his boss' desk as a hint.

Tsvetan was sat next to Andrei typing away on his laptop about things Peter couldn't see. He could be watching porn on mute for all Peter knew. He doubted it though; porn didn't really go well with a mourning outfit.

Peter nodded. Agent België was currently guarding the Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen household, whilst Agent Monte Carlo was guarding the hotel room where Lars and the Edelsteins were staying, and in a few days' time, Agent Victoria would be accompanying Roderich, Érzsebét and Elise to the airport. Everyone was tense; Commonwealth could attack them at any time. They'd hardly let Lars get away with his life, not after killing their assassin too.

"Is it about Angie?" asked Peter.

"No, though I can say your brother will walk free."

Peter sighed in relief before frowning. "So did she kill the others?"

Andrei exchanged a glance with Tsvetan. "Katya's DNA tests confirmed it was Angie who killed Alin and the children. The CSIs found an eyelash on Alin's shirt that belonged to her. We just need to match the bullet used to kill her with the ones found…" he looked down.

"In Skender and Dragomir?" Peter offered.

"Yes, thank you," snapped Tsvetan, bringing his fingers down on the keyboard and wincing in pain; "can we get back to the matter at hand?"

Andrei glanced over at his brother-in-law and rested his hand on Tsvetan's, squeezing it reassuringly.

"What is the matter at hand?" asked Peter.

Andrei looked at him, corners of his mouth curling upwards. "We have the identity of the man Agent Phoenix photographed."

Peter sat up whilst Tsvetan deflated, staring miserably at his laptop screen. They'd informed him of his cousin's disappearance yesterday. Andrei didn't have a choice in the matter.

"We think he might be someone named Kuzey Karpusi-Adnan," Andrei explained, "who is supposedly living in Cyprus."

"North or South?"

"South, though his name suggests he's Turkish. He lives with his mother and three siblings in Nicosia."

"Well what's he doing here then?" Peter frowned.

"Cyprus is in the EU; he can come here if he likes," replied Tsvetan, a little stung. "Got a problem with immigrants then, Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen?"

Peter rolled his eyes; "well no, since I am one too."

"You make an interesting point though," Andrei added quickly, "and we'd like to know that why he's in Germany too. Tsvet found out his father lives in Berlin though, but we're not sure whereabouts."

"So he's visiting his dad?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Possibly. That's what we think anyway, at least as a cover story." Andrei paused. "We know he's unemployed back home, so it'd be easy for him to slip off the radar and show up here for a bit."

"You think he might have found a new job working for a certain organisation then?" Peter leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin.

"Most likely."

"Do we know anything about the rest of the family? Are they in Berlin too?"

"Very little, and we don't know where they are;" Andrei took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. "We found some divorce records for Sadik and Hestia Adnan and birth certificates for their four children in an index, so we know his siblings are named Stelios, Cora and Temel. The certificates also mention Sadik was born in Izmir and Hestia in Thessaloniki."

"Well that's a fair bit of information," Peter commented, "but will it be useful?"

"That's for you to decide."

"Why me?"

"Well," Andrei smiled, "we want you to engage in some espionage. Hardly a challenge for an experienced spy like you, huh?"

"Well I'd hardly call myself experienced," Peter sniffed, "apart from Agent Fondue, I'm the newest member."

"Regardless, you're a people person," Tsvetan piped up; "I was passing through a Turkish market yesterday and ran into the guy. Didn't talk to him, but I saw him buying some sweets and took a picture."

"That's rather creepy," Peter commented.

"This man works for an organisation trying to take over the world, one that thought it acceptable to take a shot at your brother; we really can't be developing morals at a time like this."

Peter nodded and Tsvetan handed him a sheet of paper containing more blurry photographs of the same man Agent Phoenix had seen.

"This is your mission, Agent Seagull. This will be your part in bringing down Commonwealth."

Peter looked up, tearing his eyes away from the handsome, peaceful man in the photographs. "You want me to take him out?"

Andrei shook his head, "oh no, not at all. We want you to befriend him."

"I'm not following."

"We want you to get close to this man and find out what he knows about Commonwealth."

Peter glanced back down at the photographs and raised his eyebrows. "And how close is 'close'?"

"Do whatever it takes to get information out of him, but he's key to finding out who these bastards are."

Peter nodded.

"And you'll be doing this in disguise," Andrei added.

"Of course," Peter grinned, "Willie Cook alright?"

Andrei nodded whilst Tsvetan tried to hide a snort, then busied himself with wiping a loose hair from his black mourning clothes under his brother-in-law's withering glare.

It was then that Luca entered with a cup of coffee for Andrei, setting it down on the desk and nodding to Peter and Tsvetan.

"Agent Monte Carlo phoned," he said, turning back to his boss, "she wants you to know she gave her statement and was questioned by the police. She told them what she could and they've released her. She doesn't think they'll be charging her with anything."

"That's good to know," Andrei smiled briefly before it fell; "so her sister betrayed her then."

"It's a terrible world we live in," Luca leaned against the wall.

"Well this is what our job means, to track down the worst humanity has to offer and bring them in," Tsvetan closed his laptop with a sigh.

Luca nodded. "So would you two like a drink then?"

"Herbal tea please," Tsvetan replied, "tea bags are in that flowery box in the kitchen cupboard."

"Right!"

"Earl Grey for me, please." Peter smiled at Luca; he'd grown quite fond of the man.

"Milk?"

"Yes please!"

"Sugar?"

"No thanks," Peter beamed, "I'm sweet enough."

"Yet you'll have it with milk?" Tsvetan asked, causing Andrei to burst out laughing and Peter to try not to.

"Hilarious," he muttered.

"Okay one herbal and one milk tea," Luca counted on his fingers with a smile. Andrei looked at him closely, wondering just how deep those kind eyes went. Luca was still his top suspect, though there were others he had doubts about. It was all too convenient, him showing up just as they were put on the Commonwealth case completely and having access to all this information about them.

A theory was forming in his head, one that any of the others would call absurd, that Luca wasn't the mourning, emotionally delicate, younger brother he presented himself as. The idea that Commonwealth's members weren't opposed to turning on their own relatives would certainly clear up one mystery: how Luca could work for the people that murdered his brother. What if he just didn't care? What if, when Commonwealth decided Adriaan Morgens needed to die, Luca simply turned a blind eye. In fact, if it was possible that Angelique had shot her own brother, then who's to say Luca hadn't poisoned his too? Maybe he and Adriaan had been working together, possibly with Anri, or maybe like Monique she knew nothing. Adriaan could've tried to back out or even betray Commonwealth, and the result was more than a simple sibling spat.

Andrei stared at Luca closely. Was it possible that the young man they now worked with was a murderer? He didn't look like one, but then again, neither did Angie.

His staring didn't go unnoticed.

"Is there a problem?" Luca asked, somewhat irritated. Was there something wrong with his appearance? There usually was where that little prick was concerned, and Luca didn't like that; he took pride in his looks, and how others perceived him.

Andrei scowled at being caught out. "I was just wondering why you always dressed like a waiter," he blurted out hurriedly.

"Excuse me?"

Andrei was panicking now. "What I mean it, why bother? This isn't the Riot Club. No need to go to all the effort here."

Luca smiled, though everyone could tell he was embarrassed. "Well, if you insist on doing this in front of everyone, then the reason I dress like this is simply because I can afford to, and like wearing fine clothes." He paused for a moment, then walked forward, taking out his wallet and delicately placing a rolled up collection of notes into Andrei's blazer pocket. "There's a hundred Euro, now go and buy something that doesn't make me want to wretch."

Andrei stared at him, speechless as Luca moved back towards the office door and their co-workers burst into aghast laughter.

"You just received a Luxem-burn, boss!" wheezed Peter. Luca himself was shaking; yes it had been fun in the moment, but now? He could get in serious trouble for talking to his boss like that.

"Geddit? Cause he's from Luxem-"

"Oh shut up, Seagull," Andrei spat.

"Nice to see you settling in enough to joke with us, kid," Tsvetan tried, hoping to defuse the situation. Maybe if he played the whole thing off as just a laugh, it wouldn't end in an argument, and he could see Luca's distress clearly.

"Yes, I guess it is," Luca blushed as he smiled, "it seems, with half my face covered and all, you could even call me Bantom of the Opera."

"I'm honestly surprised a variant of the word banter left your mouth," Andrei commented.

"Oy," Peter growled, turning around to face him, "I make the jokes around here."

"O-oh," Luca looked around before looking at Peter, genuinely uncomfortable. Peter didn't look like he was joking this time. "I'm sorry. I was just… I'll get the tea." And with that, he left.

"Why did you go and say that!" Tsvetan hissed, leaning over and slapping Peter's arm, "you've made him upset now!"

"Me? Andrei was the one to cheese him off about his clothes!"

"Not my fault he dresses like a twat."

"Well you're one to talk!"

"Ditto, son."

"You bloody children," Tsvetan exhaled sharply, "both of you are to apologise to him before tomorrow!"

Andrei nodded. "Of course."

"Why don't you like him, boss?" asked Peter.

"Is it that obvious?" Andrei grimaced.

"Are you seriously asking that?" Tsvetan exclaimed. "Of course we know you hate him!"

"Well, hate's a bit strong. I simply cannot trust him."

"Oh not all that traitor crap again! You're falling apart, kid," Tsvetan sighed, "you're seeing enemies where you should be seeing allies. It's not healthy."

"Agent Yogurt, you know as well as I do that the only possible explanation for our families being attacked and murdered this way is that there's a mole in the DSA."

"It's an explanation, but not the only one," Tsvetan nodded, "they could have us bugged."

"We've checked. And we have no idea how they'd get into the building to bug it. And you're right, maybe there's another explanation, but we cannot become complacent."

"But I doubt Luca's the one you're after," began Tsvetan, rubbing his chin. "He's only just showed up last week. How can he know all about our families and pass on the info?"

"Well, I've actually met him before," Peter piped up, "only a handful of times though, at parties and stuff. Anri usually brings him. Didn't talk to him much but Isi did."

"And he would've had contact with Angie through Monique, which might explain her innocence in the whole thing," Andrei added, "poor girl."

"I wouldn't rule out Monique just yet either," Tsvetan murmured, "maybe we should just cut all ties with Daniél's group," he added jokingly.

Andrei chuckled. "Possibly."

…

Luca blinked back tears as he walked down the corridor, pulling a photograph from his wallet and staring at his brother's flushed, glaring face. He and Anri were also in the photo, either side of him, kissing his cheeks and smiling.

He didn't want Adriaan's death to be in vain; he had to stick with this to the very end and complete his mission, but could he spend a whole year with these people? It was clear he didn't fit in here, though he hoped it was just because he was new. They'd get used to him soon enough. And he might not even have to wait a year for all this to reach a conclusion.

Luca smiled to himself.

Soon his mission would be all over, and he'd get what he wanted.

…

"Okay, what else is it?"

Once Peter had left the room, Tsvetan rested a hand on Andrei's, gently stopping him from filling out his report.

"I don't know what you mean," the man replied.

"Oh I think you do. Something is bothering you, isn't there?"

The agent didn't reply immediately.

"They weren't there. My mum and dad."

"Oh..." Tsvetan pulled away, not taking his eyes off his brother-in-law.

"They didn't come to Alin and the children's funeral."

"I know. I was there."

"Did they even reply to your email?" Andrei asked, and Tsvetan nodded.

"Not even to say they weren't coming."

Andrei rested his head in his hands, letting out a dry, quiet sob. "It was their son's funeral. Their grandsons' funerals! They couldn't put their bigotry aside for one day to say goodbye to them? They really hate you, Alin and me that much?"

"Maybe they couldn't get a flight in time," Tsvetan shrugged, "it was short notice. Maybe their internet was down and they couldn't reply!"

"For over a week?"

"It happens," another shrug.

"Are you seriously trying to defend them?" Andrei looked at Tsvetan incredulously. "They think you're the scum of the earth! The last time Alin and I saw them, they said they had no sons…"

Tsvetan nodded. "Not at all! I couldn't care less that they didn't make the effort to come; made the whole day slightly less dreadful, in my opinion. But I can see it's upsetting you, so I'm trying to help."

Andrei looked up, thinking for a long moment before allowing himself to smile. "Thank you though."

"It's fine. But they haven't been in your life for years and years now," he reminded him, "maybe just accept they won't ever be again."

"Easier said than done," Andrei commented, and Tsvetan shook his head in agreement.

...

Much later that day, Luca found himself alone in the mess room, sweeping the floor absent-mindedly, thoughts filled with childhood memories of himself and his siblings playing together, fighting, throwing tantrums and making up again soon enough. They were an odd bunch, he realised upon reflection, with their strange quirks and hobbies, but at least they had each other.

Not any more though.

He'd been the one to find Adriaan, over a year ago when he was still ignorant to the true evils of the world. He'd come home from work to find Adriaan slumped on the settee like a grotesque cushion, cherry-red face buried in the upholstery. An almond cake lay spilled on the floor, a bite of the dessert still speared on the fork lying next to it, along with a single lotus.

It had been stupid, spontaneous and may well have jeopardized the entire investigation, but Luca had moved the body into its back, performing CPR and trying to breathe life back into his brother, though he knew it was futile. Then, when he finally accepted Adriaan was dead, he'd pulled him close, sobbing into his shirt and contaminating more evidence, but he didn't care. He remembered the faint smell of almonds, tears spilling down his cheeks and soaking his brother's jumper as he checked for a pulse one more time, somehow pulling himself together long enough to phone for an ambulance.

That was when he realised the world was a horrifying place to be.

Yes, he'd grown up in relative poverty, but at least murder and death were never a part of his life, just second hand clothing and hungry nights, not that those weren't grim experiences in themselves.

Even when he decided to follow a career in forensic science, it had been with a detached, sheltered curiosity. It didn't seem truly real, and as he didn't end up getting a job in forensics, he soon put all the gruesome case studies he'd read behind him. They'd been shocking to learn about, but they hadn't happened to him.

But now?

Luca paused, coming to a stop in the middle of the room.

Adriaan's death affected him badly, he knew that well enough, though he only allowed himself to acknowledge it once Anri had intervened and made him see a counsellor. Luca wasn't one for suppressing his emotions, but he struggled to talk about anything that truly bothered him, refused to, even. He couldn't help it; there were just certain things he didn't open up about. Even if his expressive face gave him away, he'd still deny that he was troubled. It was in his nature!

If he was completely honest with himself, Luca had to admit he was pushing himself too hard, but revenge was the only thing keeping him going at this point. The only reason he got out of bed in the morning was the hope of new leads on his brother's murder. The thought of finally getting the bastards who killed Adriaan behind bars had carried him through the DSA's training, and that same thought made his new job more bearable. It was getting obsessive, he knew that too, but at this point he was too wrapped up to care.

He heard the door open behind him and he busied himself with his sweeping, glancing around to find Andrei staring at him with an unreadable expression. He snapped his head back to the front and tried to ignore him, focusing on his broom with a new fervour. What did he want now?

"Careful, Agent Fondue," Andrei commented as he made his way towards an armchair, "you'll pull the bloody carpet off if you sweep it any harder."

Luca paused, gritting his teeth. "Is there something you want me to help you with, sir?"

Andrei leaned forward; "yes, actually."

"Two sugars no milk, I know." Luca nodded and set the broom down.

"No, look, just sit down." Andrei was firm, but there was a gentleness there too, which surprised Luca. Why was he being all nice now? Unless…

"Something hasn't happened to Anri, has it?" His legs felt weak as he lowered himself onto the sofa.

"No, she's fine," Andrei looked away, "look, I have a job for you."

"I'm not doing your ironing too," Luca snapped.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing my own chores," Andrei snapped back. "Look, everyone's out," he faltered, looking away, "and I need someone to look up Mr Wang's family, see if there's anything we can find on them. It could be important."

Luca blinked. "You want me to do some actual research related to the case?"

Andrei shrugged. "Or- you know- check out their facebooks and hope they've not set their profiles to private. Their twitter accounts too, and maybe anything else you can find. There are laptops you can borrow in the cupboard."

"I'll see what I can find," Luca smiled and stood up.

"He has three children," Andrei informed him, "Cheng, Mei and Xiang. Oh, and you'll have another task tomorrow. I want you and Agent Seagull in my office at nine o'clock on the dot."

"What for?" asked Luca, beaming.

"We'll be seeing if you really are a master of disguise."

...

Eemeli had just gotten comfortable and had began to drift off when his bed jiggled as someone climbed in next to him. He frowned in irritation.

"Björn? That you?" Well, who else could it be?

"No, it's the bjögeyman."

Eemeli chuckled and lifted his head up to see his older brother snuggled under the duvet up to his nose.

"I can't sleep," he mumbled.

"Well I can, and was just about to," Eemeli grumbled.

"Sorry." The irritation that had bubbled up inside Eemeli subsided slightly at the sight of his brother's face. Björn snuggled closer to Eemeli, watery eyes glaring at the band name on Eemeli's t-shirt. He sighed tiredly.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced over his brother's head to find Björn's bed empty, sheets crumpled. The boys' shared room was a mess, text books, papers, CDs, clothes, empty packets and sports equipment nearly covering the floor; Tino kept nagging at them to tidy it, but they'd never got round to it. The pair thought they were being helpful if they put an empty bottle in the recycling bin and the hoover hadn't entered the room in nearly a year. It was safe to say the room was avoided by most family members.

"I'm scared." Björn was crying silently now, and Eemeli- despite himself- wrapped his arms around him.

"About what?" Eemeli frowned. "You're not still pissing yourself over that assassin? The bastard's not gonna come after Lars again. Or any of us! They got shot in the head."

"But what if those bad guys Peter's fighting have more assassins?" Eemeli couldn't find an answer to that.

"I don't want to lose anyone else," Björn mumbled.

"What do you mean 'anyone else'?" Eemeli wrinkled his nose.

"What are you talking about?" Björn sat up, "you can't have forgotten Yrjan and Hemming already!"

"I didn't…"

"I still miss them!"

"Me too…"

"I want to see them again," Björn's face crumpled, "I want them back. They were my older siblings..."

"It's not just that, is it?" Eemeli couldn't really say he was in tune with people's emotions, but he understood Björn, arguably better than he understood himself. He knew what each little gesture and expression meant, every miniscule movement. He could read Björn like a book, and his brother was his one link with humanity and emotion.

"No," Björn looked away. "I've been thinking about Kumar too."

"What about Kumar?" Eemeli growled. He'd never been fond of Björn's first- and only- boyfriend, a young boxer he met at the sport's centre, another haemophiliac who threw himself into the sport to stay fit. He was an arrogant young man, and too brash for Eemeli's liking, and Björn pointing out his and Kumar's similarities didn't help matters either. But Kumar seemed to genuinely care for Björn, so the younger brother kept his grievances to himself and a close eye on the pair.

Their relationship was slow, innocent, and lasted three years before… well…

"I miss him."

Eemeli nodded; "I know. I know what he meant to you."

"I'm scared that everyone I love will die, like they did. What if I die too? My scare..."

"Don't talk about that! Ever!" Eemeli placed his hands on Björn's cheeks. He couldn't hear about the scare again! He wanted to forget it completely.

"But Kumar-"

"Did not die because of his illness! He got food poisoning."

"No he didn't. He ate a cake that had cyanide in it!"

"Exactly! He ate poisoned food, and got food poisoning!"

Björn groaned. "They're two different things! You don't usually die of food poisoning."

"He did-"

"Someone killed him! Someone murdered him, most likely!" Silence. It was another topic Eemeli wanted to avoid, but Björn was aminant. He was still relatively innocent for his age, but he knew murder when he saw it.

Björn remembered his Papa telling him the news, only seven months ago, that Kumar had collapsed during his lunch break and died in the ambulance. His classmates had described him as looking like he was suffocating, and thought he was choking on his cake. Cyanide poisoning, it turned out.

Just like Hemming's death.

Björn remembered falling to his knees, not hearing his relatives as he screamed into his hands. He became lost in his grief, like a part of his soul had been ripped away. It couldn't be true! How was Kumar dead just like that?

His world fell apart that day.

"I loved him," Björn whispered, eyes damp with tears, "I still do. It was so soon after Yrjan and Hemming! Only a few years... It's too much pain to take. And then someone hurt Lars! Not just anyone too, one of Peter's friends. Do you think it's all because of his job?"

"Of course not," Eemeli rolled his eyes, "Lars? Well yeah. But Yrjan and Hemming died before he got his new job, and the bad guys certainly wouldn't have targeted your boyfriend to get back at him. We all know Kumar's dad did it. Why would he go on the run if he hadn't?"

Björn didn't reply.

"Look, the polizei will find the bastard in whatever corner of the world he's hiding in, along with whoever killed Yrjan and Hemming, and they'll rot in prison!"

"That won't bring the others back though," Björn mumbled. "And I'm still scared."

Eemeli sighed. "You don't have to worry, bro. I'll protect you! Look, would you be less scared if you slept in my bed tonight?"

Björn smiled, hugging his brother. "Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, given that it's set in Germany, Luca delivered a Luxem-brennen. Probably too many jokes in this chapter but I don't give a toss. Oh come on! I managed to write a sentence in this involving the words 'carpet' and 'harder' without making a joke that's gotta count for something!
> 
> Tut tut Peter, you cannot hog all the jokes! It's pun for all and all for pun!
> 
> And yes, Kumar's dad is India. And yes, he will turn up… eventually.


	18. Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oyoy geezers, long time no see, huh? Again, sorry for that. I was drawing and editing previous chapters and stories, but I love this au so I always come back to this. Not sure when the next update will be, as I'm moving house in two weeks and have a lotta cleaning, downsizing and packing to get through, plus it's the end of the school year next month and I have assignments by the bagful to get through before then.  
> Still, not much in the way of action here, that's all to come next chapter.

“My agents,” Andrei growled, pacing up and down in front of Luca and Peter, “I have gathered you here today for a very special task.

The trio were in the cloakroom at HQ, and the only ones in the building at that moment. Peter yawned and sipped from his cold mug of coffee, running a hand through his messy hair. It had been a bad night for him, and he’d not been able to sleep thinking about his family and their fate, both dealt and yet to be dealt. Lars had been a wake up call; just how many more younger siblings would he be forced to outlive before he received something that might be close to justice? The situation was also taking its toll on his parents' health, he could tell that much.

He glanced nervously at the make-up bag on Luca’s lap. Now what exactly was he planning to do with _that_? The pair exchanged confused looks.

“And what would this ‘special task’ be?” asked Luca. “It better be important, because if Anri finds out I stole this, she’ll probably shove it up my rear end.” He held up the bag and winced for added measure.

“Oh it’s very important indeed,” Andrei grinned, “as you know, Agent Seagull, we want you to go undercover to prize information from your… target.” He glanced at Luca before continuing. “Well, Agent Yogurt suggested we should give Agent Fondue a chance to disguise you, and put his skills to the test?”

“Suggested?” asked Luca in a cynical manner, though he was clearly chuffed at the news.

“Suggested, forced, does it really matter?” Andrei shrugged, breaking into a smile despite himself.

“Not particularly,” Luca set the make-up bag down next to him and opened it, “so what do you need me to do?”

“I’d like to know that too,” Peter was still starting at the bag, “Willie Cook doesn’t wear make up.”

“Who’s Willie Cook?” asked Luca.

“My alias,” Peter replied before Andrei could stop him. “My name when I go on missions and stuff.”

There was a pause before Luca spoke again; “is that not Agent Victoria’s little brother?”

“Yes,” Peter replied sheepishly, “he’s also my cousin. We look similar so I started using his name.”

“I see.”

“And Franz uses the name he’d have been called if he was a girl with his mother’s maiden name, since he likes going undercover as a girl.”

“Really?” Luca looked at his colleague in interest.

“Speaking of which,” Andrei butted in, not at all liking how much information Peter was giving out, “that’s your task, agent Fondue. I want to see how good you are at creating disguises.”

“You want me to turn Peter into a woman?” Luca raised an eyebrow.

“That’s the idea. He needs to be convincing though.”

“Hang on a minute,” Peter interrupted, “will I be doing my mission as a girl? Peronal Cook, huh?”

“Probably not,” Andrei waved a hand, “this isn’t some one-day thing, you’d need to play a convincing woman for a considerable amount of time, and there’s a higher chance of getting caught out. It's just to test Agent Fondue.”

“I think I might need more than my sister’s eyeliner,” Luca piped up.

“There’s more costumes and wigs in that box over there,” Andrei nodded at the cardboard box next to the lockers before deciding it was time to make an exit. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

“May I ask who will be judging my efforts?”

“I will, if that’s okay with you,” Andrei paused at the door.

“I suppose, though I fear you might be somewhat biased.”

“Meaning you’ll have to do something spectacular to impress me,” Andrei grinned. “But fair enough. In that case, when you’re done, show Peter to Agent Yogurt and if he gets a boner, then you failed.” Then he disappeared.

There was a long pause before anyone spoke again.

“He’s not serious, is he?” Luca asked.

“No idea,” Peter frowned, “I wasn’t aware I had that effect on Tsvetan before.”

Luca looked at him for a second. “Yes, he had to be joking. Now hold still while I put on your foundation.”

 

...

 

“Oh, Agent Patch!”

Andrei turned around to find his brother-in-law walking towards him, shoes barely making any noise as they padded across the hall carpet. Tsvetan was once again dressed in mourning clothes: entirely in black, as he would remain for the upcoming year as a widower. His eyes were still bordered by dark rings, and his face had become more gaunt since his family’s death, but this was the first time Andrei had seen him without bloodshot, puffy eyes. Maybe he was starting to heal...

“Hey,” he replied as Tsvetan caught up with him.

“How are you coping, kid?” he asked, “holding up okay?”

“More or less,” Andrei smiled, “still in one slightly crumbling piece at least.”

“Hang in there.”

“You too, old man,” he replied, “I really can’t afford to lose you as well now.”

“Of course,” there was a pause before Tsvetan spoke again, “look, I just wanted to say, well, you didn’t need your parents at your funeral. They wouldn’t have had anything nice to say, and you had all the support you needed from your friends, right?”

“Right,” Andrei nodded, “they made their feelings clear and, in the end, it’s their loss.”

“You and Alin were better off without them,” Tsvetan agreed, “I for one am glad to have been a part of your lives, but I think it needs to be said that they would’ve caused a bit of a scene at the church, and that was the last thing you need.”

“You think they really would’ve said something,” Andrei looked down, “about- you know- you and Alin and the boys? When they were lying in their coffins? Or me even?”

“Possibly,” Tsvetan shrugged, “but I was thinking more about how you told everyone you were an orphan. And let’s face it, the last thing any funeral needs is someone screaming about ghosts.”

Andrei laughed, “a good point. Might’ve cheered me up a bit though.”

“More so than Tino’s shit of a son.”

“Yeah that kid has some pretty poor timing.” He nodded. “I might as well have been an orphan though, for all they cared about me and Alin.”

 

…

 

“There, all done!”

Peter took the mirror Luca handed to him and gazed at his reflection, or at least, what he assumed was his reflection.

The person staring back at him didn’t look like tired, stressed Peter Oxenstjärna, a thirty year-old man with a dangerous job. Instead, a young woman with a fat, blonde plait blinked in confusion from the circle of glass. His cheekbones had softened, his cheeks round and blushed with rouge and his eyes were bordered by more kinds of ink and powder than he could name. His face had been shaved of its stubble, though even Luca’s best efforts with a pair of tweezers wasn’t enough to tame his terrifying set of eyebrows, and had only succeeded in causing Peter a fair amount of pain.

But it seemed the pain had been worth it, as he looked pretty damn amazing right now.

“What do you think?” Luca asked, bristling with nervous excitement. He trembled as he clapped his hands together, covered in pink powder and black smudges.

“Holy shit how did you do it?” Peter exclaimed, jumping up. “I look great!”

Luca was clearly chuffed, and he broke into a rather uncharacteristic, wide grin. “You think so?”

“Yeah! Wow I’m so beautiful,” Peter admired himself in the mirror, careful not to touch his face and smudge anything, “even my wig looks nicer than my real hair.”

“Yeah I had it treated. Hey I don’t low-budget where it counts,” Luca smiled, settling onto the bench, “and I’ve had a lotta practice. Been helping Anri with her face since I was little.”

“Well it’s paid off,” Peter smiled at his reflection, “shame I can’t use this disguise, but I’m sure you can pull it off again, right? Think you can... cook up a Willie Cook?”

“Of course,” replied Luca, “anything you like. If the boss approves, that is.”

“Only one way to find out,” Peter stood up and dashed to the door, throwing it open with a flourish. “Oy Patch! Come look at how well fucking fit I am now!” Then he turned back to Luca. “I’m sure he’ll be along in a moment!”

“How did someone like you even become a spy?” Luca asked with a groan, "you're as subtle as an elephant."

 

...

 

“Well I’m impressed,” Tsvetan commented, leaning against the wall and raising his eyebrows. Andrei found himself nodding in agreement.

“Peter looks so much better than he usually does,” he added.

“Hey!”

“You mean it?” Luca asked.

“So what do you think?” Tsvetan turned to Andrei, throwing an anxious smile in Luca’s direction first, “will Agent Fondue be our make-up artist from now on?”

Andrei wrinkled his nose, “excuse me? I’m the make-up artist and costume department in this business.”

Luca’s smile fell and Tsvetan rolled his eyes. “Oh grow up. You have enough on your plate without dressing up Peter all the time. Try to focus on being our boss and telling us what to do.”

“Maybe we could both take turns in creating disguises,” Luca offered, smiling hopefully.

“I suppose,” Andrei sighed, waving a hand in a dramatic manner. Tsvetan, however, grimaced.

“You two? Working together on something? Can't see that lasting long, or turning out at all well.” He raised an eyebrow. “In my mind there’s fire, death, zombies and the general end of the world if you two were forced to get along and I feel future historians will blame me for not stopping you now.”

"We'll be fine as long as Agent Fondue obeys me without question."

"Will I fuck!"

“Fucking hell you’re one weird, miserable bastard, Tsvet,” Peter groaned.

“And can you by any chance think of something that would have made me a miserable bastard lately?” Tsvetan narrowed his eyes, “I don’t know, something horrendous to suck away any happiness I have?”

"Now you know I didn't mean it that way..."

“You were always like that even when my brother was alive,” Andrei growled, “it’s what drew you together.”

“Well, part of it,” Tsvetan smiled, melancholy behind the eyes, “I think my wit and charm helped too.”

“They didn’t,” Andrei told Luca, who nodded along.

“So how did you two meet anyway?” he asked.

“Interesting story,” Tsvetan sat down next to Peter, who was still fiddling with his plait and glancing in the mirror, wiggling his eyebrows at his reflection.

“I’d like to hear it,” Luca continued, smiling hopefully and playing with his hands, “if that’s fine with you.”

“Of course. Well, I met him the first day I ever set foot in Berlin, funnily enough,” explained Tsvetan, leaning back and regarding his co-workers. “I was on my way to a job interview, and had landed several hours before I needed to show my face there, so decided to kill some time seeing a fortune teller.”

“Mr Radacanu?”

“That’s the one,” Tsvetan replied, poking Luca lightly on the nose, “I’m not really into all that, but his tent was near where I needed to be and it was better than walking about in the cold so,” he shrugged, “I walked in and there was all this hocus-pocus halloween shite everywhere, you can imagine. And there he was in a stupid shawl and one of his silly little hats, spouting something about being able to see my future and soul, and communicate with the dead. Basically, trying to come off across as mystical and just ending up looking like a twat.”

“So not love at first sight then?” Luca raised an eyebrow.

“Not in the slightest, though Al would always say otherwise,” Tsvetan admitted, “hard to believe, huh?”

“Incredibly so.”

“I was ready to walk back out there and then, in all honesty, but that would’ve been rude so I sat down and asked for a palm reading.” Tsvetan held out his hand, “and he took it and began explaining to me what all these lines mean and stuff, but it soon got boring so I told him if he was really psychic he’d have made me wash my hands first.”

“Oh not that line again,” Andrei rested his head against the wall, “I remember him coming home and telling me that some dickhead had said that, took a long time to find out it was you though.” Luca, meanwhile, busied himself with furiously wiping his nose with his sleeve, vowing to never touch Tsvetan without gloves again.

“Yeah he kicked me out of his tent,” Tsvetan shrugged, “and that was the end of it really. We didn’t expect to meet each other again, but fate’s funny like that. It turns out that job interview I had later that day was for a little organisation recently set up by the government, and led by Alin’s little brother.” Andrei smiled. “We met again a few months later at a Christmas party.”

“So you were the first agent Mr Radacanu hired?” asked Luca.

“I was so,” replied Tsvetan, “Franz joined soon after, then Peter a year or so after, well...”

“The Oxenstjärna incidents,” Peter finished, and a sombre silence fell over the four. Agent Seagull set down the mirror next to him on the bench; that year of gruelling training, a life consisting of one deadly mission after another, and he still wasn’t any closer to finding out who killed Yrjan and Hemming.

“So,” began Luca, voice cracked and fast, “how come you applied, Mr Borisov-Radacanu?”

“I didn’t,” Tsvetan shrugged, “I was contacted by Agent Magyar, who wanted more agents for the new branch of the DSA. Of course, he didn’t say that to me right away, just emailed a cover story about looking for computer programmers.”

“And you went all the way to Germany for a job interview?” Luca’s eyebrows shot up.

“I did when I saw how much they were gonna pay me.”

“And how did you even come to Magyar’s attention.”

“Well, I was already something of a celebrity in Bulgaria,” Tsvetan threw a wink in Luca’s direction.

“And by that, he means he made local news after being fined for hacking his government’s website,” Andrei shook his head in despair, “and Magyar found that amusing somehow.”

“You hacked your own government’s website?” Luca exclaimed.

“And changed every mention of the word ‘president’ to ‘penis’,” Peter added.

Luca couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Political protest?”

“No, it was simply because I was bored, and because I could,” Tsvetan shrugged, “when you’re unemployed for as long as I was back then, you tend to get creative with your time. Plus, it wasn't something I'd ever dare do as a child, back behind the Iron Curtain and all, and the freedom got to my head, in a way.”

“And funnily enough, it won him a job,” Andrei commented.

“You sure know how to pick them, Mr Radacanu.”

Andrei glared at Luca, “don’t blame me, Magyar found the guy!”

“Yet you interviewed him. And hired Seagull and Edelweiss.”

Andrei shrugged, “true. And there really is no need to call me ‘Mr Radacanu’; Andrei or Agent Patch will suffice.” That being said, Andrei quite liked how Luca said that, in his soft, accented voice.

“I understand, Andrei.”

“Still,” Peter coughed, “whoever is doing my disguise needs to get on it, because I have a plan involving this Kuzey guy that I’m pretty keen to set in motion.” He grinned, “we’ll soon know all of Commonwealth’s little secrets.”


End file.
